The Irken and the Pendulum
by The5000livi
Summary: Exiled from the Irkens, crippled and allegedly dead three years, Zim has given up hope. But when his arch rival finds him in hiding after so long, something is rekindled and he must find the strength to help Dib stand up to the rapidly approaching demise of his new home planet. Light ZADR. Props to Nightwish.
1. Prologue

_"HORRIBLE STINK-BEAST!"_

_The little knife spun rapidly in the air before slamming right into the computer bank, shattering the main screen and erasing the image of the two Irken leaders laughing horribly as they watched the defect stagger. Colourful sparks spattered from the console, illuminating the two rivals. The small Irken screwed up his face in pain, bringing a hand up to touch the superficial cut that had been opened on his arm. _

_Dib froze – he had seen the thin, dark line open up and the green trickle that oozed from it. _Blood,_ he thought, mind racing like an electric current through a lightning rod. He had seen Zim's blood, ACTUAL ALIEN blood. After three years. A simple 'drop in' on Zim's base had escalated to this – a fight in which one of them had actually drawn blood. Irken blood had a dark sheen to it. Fascinating. He'd love a sample…_

_He stopped this train of thought just in time to see Zim leap forward, spider-legs sliding out in perfect choreography, all gleaming and aimed at the same target. Dib yelled out in surprise and quickly gave ground before the slashing weapons as the alien began a beautiful series of lightning-fast strokes. Dib ducked, sidestepped and blocked the attacks as they came, keeping up with Zim's steady rhythm and all the while backing up. After three years of fighting, the two were perfectly in sync. They both knew the other's every trick; hell, they could pluck thoughts from the other's very mind. The Irken's ruby eyes were narrowed angrily. Oh yes, Zim had seen what the boy was thinking on seeing his superior Irken blood candies. And BOY, was he going to get it!_

_The teen was backed up against the wall of the lab, still desperately fighting off those dextrous appendages. Aha. That gleam in Zim's eye…he recognised that look anywhere. Self-righteous indignance. He smiled inwardly. Some things never changed._

_Taking hold of a PAK leg, Dib wrenched it downward while bringing up his other fist to smack heartily into the alien's cheek. Zim reeled with a grunt, and that was when his foe surged forward with a holler of triumph. He'd lost his last weapon, but he had all the experience he needed for this fight._

_But Zim was born from a military race – he may have been a defective, but he still had his training, and the reflexes of a cobra. In the blink of an eye, a single PAK leg shot forward to meet the boy. The sharp tip found Dib's midsection easily and the boy dropped to the floor, groaning._

_That was definitely a cut on his side, but not a deep one. He wrapped an arm around the hurt area, wincing as he did so, but hoping he could get it covered up before Zim saw the blood seeping through his coat, he was glad it was black… _

_Too late, he'd seen. That expression on his face wasn't just interest, no, that was _fixation._ The alien met his human's eyes and his face broke into a devilish grin._

_"Now we're even, Dib-worm."_

_Dib was relieved in spite of himself. Yes, now they were even. It was over. _

_And it was lucky that it had finished then, and not a few minutes later. Because now that Dib could pull his attention away from Zim, he noticed the heat in the room, and that acrid smell…_

_Zim's antennae shot up a second before the word 'FIRE!' left Dib's mouth. _

_They both looked up in horror. A spark in the computer bank must have ignited; the myriad cables and wires stretched across the base ceiling were smoking. Some were melting, and the room was filled with a bitter haze that stung the eyes and caused the walls to undulate._

_Zim was already haring it for the exit._

_"MOVE IT, STINK-MEAT!"_

_Dib didn't need t be told twice. Terror completely drowned his indignance at the insult, and it was all he could do to run after the fleeing alien. They had to make it to the elevator in time!_

_It took several heart-clenching minutes for him to realise he was lost. The horrible smoke was getting worse, the heat was intensifying every minute, and Zim was nowhere to be seen. Dib stumbled, coughing up soot. He raised his head and stared with smoke-blinded eyes into the chaos of noise and heat and falling debris._

_"ZIM! WHERE ARE YOU?" His shout was lost as a huge groan shook the walls of the base. Dib screeched in terror as a huge chunk of the ceiling broke loose above him but somehow managed to force his limbs into action, flinging himself forward. He hit the floor, checked and scrambled forward, attempting to stand – and a pipe smashed right down across his legs._

_The boy screamed as agony ripped right up through his spine. He was trapped. He was going to die here. There was no way any creature on Earth could move that pipe, and he was completely alone. Dib's breathing grew shaky as his body started to go lax. Oh, this smoke was awful. He couldn't breathe. The colours…such pretty colours….orange clashed with magenta and flecks of white, all overlayed with that smoky haze, and the fuzzy, welcoming darkness at the edge of his vision. His eyes began to slip closed. So._

_And out of the flames appeared a lithe, dark figure, clothes shredded to pieces and burning. Dib's eyes flew open as he struggled to discern the apparition before him. It was his arch nemesis. Had the Irken come back for him? Or was he here to kill his rival himself?_

_Zim looked positively LIVID. His deep ruby eyes caught the orange blaze and danced with the colours, lighting them up in a hideous display of fire, and light and something white, and hot and simmering. Dib actually found himself cowering under that fierce, wild gaze. It was either pure desire to kill or some kind of sick possession. But totally foreign. Then a spider leg struck forward._

_Dib felt the impact, sure it had gone straight through his back. He couldn't actually feel pain at this point thanks to the shock, but it MUST have skewered him. Then he felt the crushing weight lifted from his legs, and a gloved claw clamped down on the scruff of his neck, jerking him roughly out from under the pipe, and he found himself dangling haphazardly in the air and looking into the eyes of a small, very stubborn Irken. Zim was _saving _him! Without a word, Zim slung the boy unceremoniously over his shoulder and proceeded to carry him like a sack of dead kittens. If he wasn't injured, half-conscious and very bewildered, Dib would have murdered him._

_Somehow they both made it to the elevator shaft – which was just that. A shaft. No elevator, and with a horrible sick feeling, Dib remembered that he'd disabled the elevator when he snuck into the base, using his own gear to get down the shaft - the same gear that was now lying in a charred heap in the corner._

_Zim's eyes narrowed and he spat something in Irken that must have been a curse. His grip slackened on the boy and Dib slid down and looked up at the Irken's face._

_"I…I'm sorry." he managed to whisper, "I guess this is my fault, huh?"_

_Zim glared at him, but it was softer than his normal glare._

_ "Yes, idiot. But Zim does not wish to end this…enemyship…now."_

_And Dib found himself smiling._

_In one fluid motion, Zim snatched up the boy. _

_And threw him._

_The teenager screamed as he rocketed up the shaft, the walls falling away at incredible speed. Suddenly he was sprawled on his back on the top floor of Zim's base, with the exit right in front of his face. Dib stared at it dubiously, but pride won over self-preservation and he wriggled onto his back to stare down the shaft at Zim._

_"Come on!" he screeched. _

_Zim straightened up. Of course he wasn't going to die down here in his own base. His skin may have been fire resistant, but he could only survive so long in this nasty…burny…*ack!* heat._

_Dib grew hopeful as the alien deployed his PAK legs, then baulked as he realised that there were only three. One of the lower appendages had snapped off at the first joint. Zim gritted his teeth as he looked at it, but resolutely plunged the three working legs forward. The hardened metal bit deep into the wall and the Irken began to climb. He had lost some of that fluid grace he had of four legs, but he was still a strong climber, with skill unmatched by any human. His race really _was _superior, Dib thought reluctantly. Sweat was visible on the Irken's forehead – he was tiring. And the walls of the shaft were beginning to look very unstable, buckling due to the heat. _

_The human watched helplessly was the alien began to lose his grip, sliding inch by inch down the wall as he groaned under the exertion._

_That was when the top of the shaft gave way._

_Dib shouted a warning, but it was too late for Zim._

_His eyes became huge at the sight of his own base crumbling down on him. His gaze switched to Dib, and the human's heart leapt into his throat. The expression on Zim's face tore right through Dib. Gone was the bravado and stubbornness. This was a look of pure animal terror, a single sign that, yes, this was a LIVING CREATURE Dib was looking at. A living creature, a person, who was going to be killed._

_Zim hung on grimly to the warped panel as heavy sharp, deadly debris thundered down past him. Dib drew in a breath. Maybe, just maybe, Zim could hold on?_

_And then that one piece of shrapnel came down last, and slid so smoothly into Zim's spine. There was a terrible noise, a metallic scraping as the deadly point sheared straight through one of the delicate cables that fixed the PAK onto Zim's back. His life support was destroyed. And in that one look the two rivals exchanged, they both knew that the other knew, this was the end for Zim. A shrill scream ripped itself from Dib's throat, mingling with Zim's as he fell to his final resting place. Dib saw the lights go out in the alien's eyes a second before he thudded to the floor. And then there was one heart-stopping image of the Irken's body, lying small and vulnerable and twisted on the floor, before the rest of the shaft caved in on top of him._

_Dib dragged himself from the rapidly deteriorating base, his breath ragged and his eyes blinded by the tears that knifed down his cheeks. He barely heard the wail of the ambulance, or the pounding of feet and voices shouting if he was alright._

_He didn't feel the hands that lifted him into the stretcher, or the dull thud of the ambulance doors slamming shut. It was all a blur of white noise and dizzy shapes that hung just outside his conscience, and the rest was just a black, sucking pit of mind-numbing…nothing._

_There was only one truth in the world._

_Zim was dead._


	2. A Mere Scrap of Paper

The pale seventeen year old stepped boldly into the classroom, and winced. His teacher's diamond-cutter gaze was something to be feared on a good day, but it only got this bad when she was preparing for a rather bleak lecture. And judging from the gloomy aura circulating in the classroom, it was definitely going to be another doomsday lecture. Hitching his breath, the teen trudged doggedly across the vast stretch of linoleum-floored hellhole (doing his best to ignore the 'endearing' look the Bitters-demon was shooting him; he didn't see why she should bother since they were all terrified of her anyway) and slouched into his cold seat. He saw the teacher's eyes glint for a second (a spinechilling second it was) before she turned her dark eyes to the rest of the class. Here it comes, thought Dib.

"Now, which one out of you miserable spawn has enough intelligence to tell me how much time the Earth has left of its futile lifetime?"

The class stared at her warily, but none bothered to raise their hand. Why bother? Dib sighed, cast a bleary eye around the dull interior, finding nothing of interest, before resigning himself to his usual classroom routine which was to sit silently and straight-backed, pretending to be an attentive pupil.

As usual, after several minutes of the droning "doom…doom….doom…doom…" it became rather hard to concentrate on being attentive, and the boy would rather resort to Plan B, which was slouching heavily in his seat while he stared at the desktop, the ceiling, the outside fence (iron, with barbed wire), the mildew, that piece of dirt on the floor - anything remotely interesting - while assuming a heavily-practised jaded look. Today he was drawing meaningless lines on the desk with his index finger (the normal routine for Friday!). He scribbled out the middle names of all his classmates, all his chupacabra sightings in the past year, and then listed all 498 known elements in order of discovery. He was still bored.

He'd been bored for the past three years.

Why that was? He couldn't say. Or more accurately, wouldn't let himself think. That was, until some dark sleepless night when his fingers would unconsciously snake out of his bed, reaching for that small scrap of paper stuffed down the back of the headboard. He didn't know why he'd held onto that. He just felt…like he had to. To remind himself that the past was gone; that part of his childhood was over. And he was no longer a child.

And for the oddest reasons, he would stare at that paper, stare at it long and hard, until his hands started to shake and he broke down completely, snatched up the paper violently and stuffed it back into its resting place. Then would follow a long, long night with his face buried in the pillow trying to forget that he'd ever remembered.

Ridiculous.

Utter.

Bull.

There was no doubt about it – he was crazy like everyone said. Completely lacking in the marbles department. Though maybe now for a different reason, than when he was young.

His finger hit an unusually deep scratch, and he looked down to see something he'd rather not. A crude stick figure drawing done by him. Two years ago, if he remembered correctly.

Buggy eyed, with two odd looking stalks atop the head.

No! The boy squeezed his eyes shut, snatching up his textbook and slamming it heavily down on the desktop, regardless of the weird looks it was getting him. He groaned softly and drooped until his head was resting on the book. No good, he'd seen the drawing now. The one he'd been trying to forget about, to destroy.

His hand started to dip down toward his pants. _No, not that!_ The hand disobeyed his will. It slid inside his jean pocket, where the fingers brushed against something thin and fragile. Dib's stomach dropped. Why _had_ he decided to bring that with him?

Well, he may as well get it over with. Closing his fingers around the scrap of paper, he wrenched it out (carefully, as not to break it) and stared at the faded ink with his heart in his throat. A bold black headline blazed up at him.

_Life claimed in flash fire tragedy._

Dib didn't read on. He couldn't bear to. It would only tell him what her already knew. He didn't need any more accusing reminders.

It was his fault.

Even if the victim was an alien - an evil, moronic, conceited one - the fact remained. He had lost his life because of Dib. Dib, the saviour of Earth, was a murderer.

Dib folded his arms over the book, dropping his large head onto them and trying to be absorbed in the white noise surrounding him. Faulty lights humming. Children muttering and sniggering next door. The teacher droning on about the imminent apocalypse. Pah, if it were true, at least everyone else would die with an innocent conscience. As innocent as these thick-skulled twats got anyway. They had to be cut slack for their stupidity. Maybe a race as stupid as his deserved to be destroyed.

The boy's eyes snapped open. What was he _thinking? _That was something his _enemy_ would say!

He sighed and drooped further into his arms.

_But he was the one who saved me._

Where did invaders go when they died? Maybe to some heavenly space station somewhere. Maybe the deceased soldiers would sit around, drinking some soda-like beverage and trying to top each others' stories about the planet they tried to conquer.

_Zim, wherever you are now, I hope you're happy…_

* * *

aka. The Generic Classroom Scene

A/N: This chapter's a bit of a dud, sorry. I jumped on the bandwagon and wrote the cliche 'Generic Classroom Scene' that seems to appear in every Invader Zim fanfic (I'm giving it an official name, people). Except there's one difference. No Zim!  
Not much happens. I wrote it a while ago; it's basically Dib being all angsty and stuff. After three years, he's still having trouble adjusting to the fact that there's no Zim to argue with across the classroom. AND HUMANS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ADAPTABLE, DIB. poor thing.

Lol, apparently Word spellcheck doesn't recognise the word 'chupacabra'. Go look it up, Microsoft.

Oh, and I intentionally led you on with that sneaky little ZADR reference I inserted in there. See if you can find it. That was on purpose. Because I'm evil (:

EDIT: MY GOD, iTunes. PLEASE STOP PLAYING DAVID BOWIE. (lol, why is he in my music library?)


	3. Swaying Blade my Lullaby

The little alien strained and fought at the tight binds encircling him. He scratched and bit madly, but to no avail, as the invisible bonds only stayed put, if anything, tightening more around the little body. Zim let out a strained choking sound as he felt his chest becoming crushed worse than before, until he could barely move his limbs for it. There was no escape for now, he knew. Not this time. It was then that the voices returned to assault his antennae. The Irken opened his red eyes to glare daggers at the offending humans. They were nameless monsters, faceless, in those ceremonial coats the creatures loved to wear on special occasions. Zim knew what those occasions were. They were like sacrifices or experiments, which entailed cutting open small, defenceless life forms. Simply to spill their blood and organs. Humans had no tact, he thought disgustedly. Oh, look. Here they came now, with their sharp little knives. Zim wanted to laugh at them. They were planning on cutting him open with those pathetic little sticks, hmm? His race's weapons were far more effective.

Nothing could stand up to an Irken's PAK legs. If only they weren't secured behind him, and useless.

Here came one of the humans now, he thought dully. Come to stick his little toothpick into Zim and see what made him tick, was he? A little snigger bubbled from his throat, in spite of the death-grip his body was enduring. No earthly tool of science could truly harm an invader! Zim possessed all the mighty endurance that Irken training and genetic enhancement could provide, and there was his PAK…

Which was defective.

The knife went in. Zim's scornful cackling rapidly spiked up into a harsh, unintelligible scream. The pain was incredible! It was as if the knife had ripped right up his spine and into his brain, and back. Everything was white-hot agony. Now the point was pushing deeper – he could feel the warm trickle carving its way down his torso. His precious blood would drip away and be lost. He felt like screaming at the humans for their…inhumanity! Instead he gritted his zipper teeth, forcing down the scream that still so wanted to come out, and stared with hard eyes up at his killer. But the creature, he saw with horror, was literally faceless. Where there should have been eyes, smelling-organs - hell, some kind of EXPRESSION would have been good - it was simply void. This creature felt nothing. It was causing him pain, and it felt nothing, and - Oh Tallest, this bleeding knife. _Why_, _how _could it hurt an almighty member of the Irken Empire so much?

_Because you're not._

"What? M-my Tallest?"

_You're not a true Irken. You're not one of us._

"I don't understand, Tallest!"

_You feel pain, Zim. Your PAK is flawed. You're not one of us. You're a defect._

"NO! YOU CAN'T MEAN THAT!"

_Defect…_

Those were _claws_ holding the knife. The human was gone, and in its place was…was…

"W-why, my T-Tallest?

His leader grinned down at him. His leader? It was surely the tall, red-eyed Irken he was looking at, but…those _eyes._ They looked so cold, so murderous. There was a dark, dark light in them that made Zim's very squeedlyspooch crawl. A killer's eyes. A cold, merciless killer who destroyed civilizations, wiped out whole planets for his own purposes. Because that was all he knew.

The word _defect _pounded in Zim's head endlessly, and it soon mingled with the soft dripping of his own blood onto the unseen floor, progressively growling louder.

_/Tip. Tip. Tip. Tip./_

The binds around his torso were still squeezing him tightly.

When Zim woke up, he was being strangled by blankets. There was a dull pounding in his head, and the floor was cold again. In the background there was the soft, constant _Tip. Tip. Tip_ of the tall, dark clock reeling in Earth's time with careless automation.

The alien groaned, trying with a considerable effort to sit up under the restriction of tangled covers. They could be described as _covers _rather than blankets, as there was nothing commercial about sleeping in a pile of rags. Although they may _once _have been blankets. It was hard to tell.

How Zim hated these treacherous sleep cycles. He never used to get them this much back when his PAK worked…better. The humans engaged in them all the time, he knew, but they were a primitive species who operated solely on fuel and long hours of rest, without the use of a handy piece of AI on their backs. He'd never been plagued by these strange sleep-images before, either. It was only until sometime last year, as he felt himself gradually began to weaken (blame the terrible conditions in here) that he'd found himself having terrible vivid…dreams, were they called? He didn't know how the pig-smellies coped; although it was no wonder they always behaved like mindless animals.

He was feeling sore most of the time, too. That was because of the damaged PAK. Some of its features still worked, but the healing mechanism was faulty, which meant he had to deal with cuts and bruises the primitive way. It turned out wounds required tedious nursing and long white strips and ice packs (or whatever he could find to substitute them), rather than a simple few hours of waiting for it to heal artificially.

That was another thing that scared him about living with a badly mended PAK. If he were to seriously injure himself…

He shivered, proceeding to wrestle with the covers until they finally let him straighten them. He was still nervy about the dream, even though it had told him what he already knew. He spent most of the days not thinking about what had happened that day in his lab, that final call from his leaders, so the emotions festered and usually wormed their way out at night, when he was feeling his most vulnerable. So this was what it was like it be a defect. Suddenly he'd become smaller and more vulnerable. The world was bigger and more threatening now that he wasn't a mighty Irken soldier. And of course, though he wouldn't say it aloud, (not that anyone was there to hear) there was another reason…

The steady ticking continued. Zim groaned and shut his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at that clock; he hated it so much. It sat there day after day and ticked. It wasn't the noise that irked him so much. It was the fact that this was a _monument _to mankind. The way the timepiece just carelessly put the minutes away was a blatant, uncaring statement that the humans just _didn't care _what was happening to their planet. Zim knew what was in store. He'd felt the vibrations through his antennae, deep in the Earth's core, and knew it was preparing for the end. It was an like outcry of 'mankind, you're going to die!' that everyone refused to hear. Being outcast had opened his eyes, as had the damage in his PAK. Without the overpowering impulses from the AI dulling his mind, he'd begun to notice things he'd never noticed before. Without the PAK's restriction, Irkens had such powerful senses. He'd sensed the delicate changes in the atmosphere. He'd sensed the earth's inner workings slowly, very slowly, lock into a mad, intricate death dance. It said one thing to him: Mankind was going to _get it._

And so was he. He was a prisoner on this planet, just like they were. Just like the Dib…

Closing his eyes was no better. He could feel the death messages transmitted more clearly through the sub ether when he wasn't concentrating with his eyes. He didn't need any more reminders.

But opening his eyes again, he was face to face with that swinging pendulum. It scared him, the way it swayed like that. It was easy to imagine a sleek blade in its place, like out of one of the humans' scary moving-picture films. A blade that was slowly, slowly descending like a predator, to obliviate all life.

It was hypnotising, the way it swayed like that. Like watching blood trickle endlessly from a knife wound. He would find his limbs becoming weak. He didn't want to fall asleep again, but it was happening, his eyes were slowly slipping shut. It was mere minutes before he drifted off, with the clock's ticking resounding in his antennae.

* * *

A/N: More stealing of song lyrics for the chapter title -_-

Yes, everyone, Zim is alive! (lol he's only been dead for one chapter) Yayy! Though he seems to be having a little trouble with _his_ lifestyle as well.  
Now, before you guys start flaming me about how Zim should be dead, or stupid, because his PAK broke; the PAK is an artificial _brain._ So my guess is that it has a similar structure to a natural brain; there are different sections which control different things. So some sections of the PAK that controlled certain things were damaged, and others were left intact. And the PAK never got fully detached from Zim. Because of friction the shrapnel only went through one cable, and the PAK had just enough power left to heal itself and then reactivate Zim. But it's still permanently damaged (and by that I mean a bit more than it already was).

Sorry if you get weirded out by all the psychic stuff going on here. This is the supernatural part coming into play. I'm interested in stuff like dreams, and how everything in the universe is connected, and how the universe affects the human (and Irken) mind. (lol if I had a religion it'd be astrology. I'm a bit of a nerd.)

Please let me know what you thought! :) and thank you to the people who are supporting this fic.


	4. Windmills Not Permitted Indoors

Dib frowned, trying to stare diligently at the blank essay sheet in front of him. Staring was a good way of forcing yourself to work. After enough concentration, the sheer starkness of that glaring white sheet could drive one mad, and you'd have to fill up that homework sheet with the dark, biased facts that had been injected into your young memory, just to put your mind at peace. He was sure Ms Bitters encouraged that method. At least, he assumed that she didn't give them that essay-staring lesson for nothing. The teens would make it a contest, to see who could last the longest before they broke. The papers usually won. Ms Bitters' homework essays were tough buggers – practically _designed _to out-stare you.

Normally Dib would have just gotten it over with and moved on; he wasn't one to participate in his fellow students' roughhousing and games. He'd tried joining in a few times when he was younger, and had mostly been chased away or shunned. But Dib _needed _some kind of activity. He was naturally active, bouncy, eager. He'd tried to fit in, he really had. But his classmates just didn't want such a pale, large-headed, _strange_ child mingling with them. So he'd given up, and diverted his focus into the one field in which he'd really felt at home. Paranormal study. He wasn't judged by ghosts and aliens. They were quiet and accepting…some of them, at least. And fascinating. If humans couldn't appreciate these creatures, well, he didn't want to be part of the human race. Humans were blind and stupid. That was the main reason he'd sat up there on the roof, night after night. Just wondering whether there was _some _race out there that was fair. That didn't judge. That would…would actually _accept _him.

And six years ago, a little green child had come along and changed all that.

The teen sighed as Zim flitted through his mind. He'd been trying to block the alien out of his mind formonths. Last year he'd stopped walking past that house; it was too much to look at the charred ruin of a structure that once stood proudly, defiantly, against humanity. It had almost been a sign that someone out there _cared _about him, even if the little alien that arrived with it could be so moronic and obnoxious. His leaders were to blame, not him. Dib felt sick at the thought that he'd ever wanted to strap the little Irken to a table and pull his organs out.

Oh, forget essay-staring lessons, this thing was impossible. Bitters may as well have attached rotating knives to it; it practically didn't_ want_ Dib to fill it! He had a nagging feeling the paper might chew his hand of if he tried to place so much as a dot on its surface. That might have just been the unpleasant feeling that came with being ordered to write about how to extract bile from a pigeon, or maybe it was this STUPID WEATHER.

He couldn't believe it. It was cloudy again. It had been…what…a whole week of blinding rain, then two _miraculous_ hours of sunshine. The weather never used to be this erratic, did it? It seemed like as soon as you made plans, the weather went out of its way to destroy them. Dib had been planning on having a nice walk, since he'd been cooped up in the house with the TV and his laptop for the past week. He needed to get out or he'd risk the slow, slow spiral into cabin fever; he wasn't feeling too well at the moment, in fact.

Dib gave one last regretful glance at the offensive paper, before slamming his textbook shut on it. Screw this essay. He was damned if he was going to miss out on this precious chance to get outside. His dad and sister wouldn't care. They were on some father-daughter trip (it was Gaz's 'dad' weekend this month). The advancing clouds hadn't quite covered the sun yet; he could get some warmth while it lasted…

Dib found his feet taking him in the direction of the wheat field out of town. Childhood memories, he was guessing. This was where he and Gaz used to play when they were younger, hiding in the long stalks and trying not to let the other find them (it was always more exhilarating when you had a scary younger sister with the eyes of a peregrine falcon, and hunting skills to match). He smiled fondly when he recalled those years. Sure, Gaz could be grouchy even when she was young. Most people avoided her because she'd had an insufferable temper as long as anyone had known, but most people hadn't seen her on a _good _day. She could be fun, when she was in the right mood. Which was seldom these days.

The boy continued walking, feeling some of the weight begin to lift from his mind. He didn't realise he'd been so stressed lately, it was probably the lack of sleep from all those nights spent staring at that stupid news article. Whatever it was, it felt good to be in the sun again. Maybe he should consider doing something constructive while he was here; maybe looking for boomslangs, like he had when he was young (even though everyone had grudgingly pointed out that boomslangs were native to Africa, and if he tried to catch one he's most likely be bitten and die from internal haemorrhaging. Who was he to listen to them? He knew he'd seen one in there somewhere). But he didn't have any equipment with him, and it would be much more pleasant to walk home without a large, venomous snake dangling by its teeth from his arm. Nah, keep walking.

After another ten minutes the wheat field ended, and Dib found himself staring up at a vast, decrepit building. Of course, the old library! This was another relic from his childhood – he had gone in there several times in the past, suspecting there were chupacabras lurking in there. He'd only found cyborg possums so far, but it payed to be on the lookout; especially if anyone started losing any goats around here.

The boy cupped his hand over his eyes, squinting up at the stark sky. He still had some time left before the rainclouds set in. Why not take a quick look now?

It was only when he forced open the heavy door that he remembered _why _he'd only come in here a few times. The old building was always less exciting and mysterious when you were actually _inside _it, and more dark and terrifying. Dib swallowed, remembering himself to be much less afraid and more stupid when he was younger. Monstrosities could lurk beyond those murky rows of shelves, and in the piles of old cushions and blankets littering the place. The floor was always been covered by a thick layer of choking dust, but occasionally he'd seen tiny scratch marks scarring the surface, which had made him seriously suspicious. His sister had said they were probably tiny demons. Everyone else had said he was tilting at windmills; they were rats. They were stupid - everyone knew windmills were only outdoors...

He wanted to run. He wanted to go home, jump under the covers with his laptop and get stuck into that essay. _Coward! _There was nothing dangerous in there! The only way he'd ever hurt himself was by pulling down some of the books on top of him, and he was a teenager now. He was sure he could handle a few _books. _Dib's steps became more and more uncertain as he stalked his way through the maze of dark shelves. Some of them even still had books, but he was certainly not tempted to read any. Yeesh. Some of them actually had _fingerprints_ on them, as if they _hadn't _been undisturbed for decades. He passed by quickly, a tingling he couldn't quite place settling along his spine. Now, where had he felt that before?

He turned a corner, and staggered.

Oh God.

Footprints. _Claw_prints.

And they were fresh.

At that very same instant, Dib heard movement behind him. So, he wasn't alone after all.

For a second, the boy seriously considered screaming, but managed to choke it down. Stupid idea, the creature – or person – might as well come and finish him off! So Dib just stood there, stock still (except for his hands, which seemed to want to leave very much at that moment), and stared into the darkness. At first he didn't see the creature, but it didn't take long to spot what was lurking up on the top of a shelf. A pair of eyes!

About twenty thoughts were fighting for position in his head right now. Chupacabras. _Chupacabras,_ you idiot! He knew the monsters were known for their habit of feeding on goats' blood, but would they attack a human as well? How stupid he was not to bring a weapon with him!

The creature moved. It skulked along the shelf, before disappearing entirely. It just…_melted_ into the darkness, and seconds later Dib was sure he heard claws scratching somewhere behind him…

He ran. Shelves blurred past, piles of debris leapt out at him, snagging on his coat and tripping him mercilessly. He could always hear the noise of sharp claws skittering harshly behind him; they almost sounded _metallic_. The creature was _definitely_ chasing him. Dib went faster in his panic, blundering into walls, desks and all manner of nameless things, not even sure where he was going at this point. Curse these shelves; they were more effective than a maze. They _were_ a maze. He skidded wildly around yet another corner and heard a heavy thud behind him as some unseen force knocked some books off a shelf. The creature was gaining speed – faster than he was. A terrible snarl erupted directly above him –it sounded like _he didn't know what, _and was punctuated by harsh, broken clicks. Was _that _what a chupacabra sounded like? Heart hammering, Dib swerved to his right – only to have the thing drop down in front of him. It growled again, and he saw the glint of curved tips highlighted in silver – the creature was going to attack! Without thinking, Dib reached behind him and grabbed the first item that came to hand – which just happened to be a small coat stand – and aimed two wild swings in the direction of his attacker. He felt a jolt up his arms as the second swing made contact. The creature howled deafeningly and recoiled, but not before Dib felt the warm splatter of liquid on his face and clothes. Without a second glance, Dib dropped the weapon in panic and ran for it. Ahead were the big double doors. Sunlight. Safety. The noise behind him stopped as the scared-brainless teen rocketed out of the building, unlikely to stop until he'd put the library far, far behind him.

In the lonely darkness, a pair of deep red eyes stared astonished and unblinking at the black scythe-lock of the retreating trespasser.

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A/N: Urgh. This chapter is a day late and I'm not proud of it.  
Basically, we're building on Dib's character by introducing his past. Boring. And I hate the way the end scene was written. I wrote half of this last night and then slept on it, only to find I had trouble finding my drive again today. This chapter wasn't as fun to write as I thought it'd be...

To be honest, I don't think I'm going to keep up these daily updates for long. Just to warn you, they'll probably start coming a little bit slower, especially after school goes back, and there's a slim chance I might hit a block when I get as far as what I wrote in my head. The first half of this chapter was improvised anyway. Enjoy!

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Now to answer your reviews:

AshSpark: Why, thank you very much for the cake :D even though I had to wrestle it off Dib. I'm glad you liked my...rather dark...description, and thank you for continuing to review this story! I shall give you a cookie.

InsomniaticFrenchToast: Heh, when I read that ghost comment I slapped my hand to my forehead and yelled "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?"In my head, at least. But nope, Zim is very much alive. He's pretty disoriented, though, and unused to living without his PAK. He hasn't really been thinking about finding Dib because of his insecurity. And poor Dib's having trouble saying goodbye so he tries not to think about it at all.

ngrey651: Well, my reasoning was that when Irkens became dependent on PAKs, they were equipped with new abilities, but the PAK also drowned out the abilities that came naturally to Irkens. Bit like humans with our technology. Zim has pretty strong senses and can detect the changes in the atmosphere and such, by picking up vibrations and radiation waves. He didn't notice them before either because he was too caught up in invading the planet, or because the PAK signals drowned it out. Yeah. It's weird.

In regards to what exactly the Earth is doing, all will be revealed ;)

TheBadsun: Thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying my story. I hope it continues to be interesting!


	5. Curiosity Won't Kill Goats

This wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. The boy completed yet another frantic lap of his room, before giving up on pacing and collapsing heavily onto his bed. The black coat slipped off the headboard and flopped down over his face.

"Uugh…" Dib weakly batted the thing away, turning his head to face the wall. He couldn't even bring himself to _look _at it now. The wall was safe; all his Zim photos (for science, of course) had long ago been pulled down and stashed carefully away in his father's lab, in one of those cupboards that no one ever seemed to use.

Barely an hour ago, he'd burst screaming into the Membrane household, somehow managing not to stop once after fleeing the library. Luckily the place was free of his beloved kin, who were _still _away on their little trip.

He'd forced down a glass of water in an attempt to calm his nerves (his heart was still going like a jackhammer), and then staggered weakly up to the bathroom to shower. It wasn't until he took off his coat in the bathroom to hang it up that he noticed, for the first time, the liquid that had splattered onto him when he attacked the creature in the dark. He sniffed at it, finding it to have a subtle, almost metallic smell, and then wiped a finger over the wet patch so he could see the substance more clearly. That was when Dib had practically jumped out his skin, mind reeling in shock, slipped on the bath mat and had to grab the towel rail to save himself. Lurching to his feet again, he'd stumbled over to the sink to stare desperately into the mirror. As he thought, there were spots of the liquid on his face as well, standing out stark against the backdrop of his now exceptionally pale skin. A scene from three years ago was ripping through his memory. Dib knew exactly what it was he was looking at – nevertheless, he'd wasted no time in sprinting downstairs to his father's lab to find a swab.

Finding the least contaminated spot he could, the paranormal investigator had carefully swabbed a tiny amount of the substance onto the cotton, sealing the precious sample in a sterile bag (his father always had these things handy) and racing back upstairs to find the next thing he needed.

Dib laid down the half-full test tube next to the bag which contained his sample, staring hard at the contents of the two. They definitely looked similar. But perhaps there was a chance he was wrong? Unlikely, but possible. Human eyes couldn't distinguish DNA, after all, could they? He needed a pair of alien eyes to look at this… _no, don't think about that…_ human technology would do.

Still fearing the worst, Dib had gone about the procedures for DNA extraction, luckily he knew his father's equipment like the back of his hand. SDS. Centrifuge. Ethanol. Centrifuge. Wait. Now extract the DNA, and dye it…start electrophoresis…

Dib lay prone on his bed, trying to calm the thought that were still racing around his mind like a headless chicken. Most of them were confusing, and tangled, and not very helpful. Part of him was murderously impatient to see what the results would be, but another, less He took out his headphones, hoping to drown out the thoughts with some music. Ten minutes later, he was just starting to calm down when the deafening blare of his alarm snapped him back into reality. The electrophoresis was done, and he should now be able to compare the samples.

A match.

Dib's hand trembled as he picked up the tiny vial lying on the table, the sample he had collected over three years ago. There, the truth was out. You couldn't argue with science, even though he now realised he'd been able to see the similarity instantly. He sat heavily on the bed, hand over his chest as his heart was pounding almost as hard as when he'd done that mad escape only that afternoon. The scene from earlier repeating over and over in his mind like a scratchy record, he stared down at the coat on the floor, stained with what Dib was now certain was Irken blood.

And there was only one Irken it could possibly belong to.

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A/N: I come up with the weirdest chapter titles -_-  
Short chapter is short.

Sorry guys, this is a boring transition chapter. Let's just pretend the DNA was uncontaminated. Let's pretend that extracting DNA from blood is the same as extracting it from barley. Let's pretend that this chapter isn't badly written. Let's just...be happy.

I wouldn't say Dib's upset by his discovery, just very shocked.  
I don't know if this chapter is a disappointment or not, so just bear with me :)

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To answer reviews!

InsomniaticFrenchToast: You're beginning to sould like you'd be better at writing this fic than me XD. To be honest, I hadn't really thought of it on that level.

That is a BRILLIANT idea for a ficlet.

Kazehana23: Hm, eveyone seems to think of Zim being a ghost. Funnily enough it never occured to me, but it would certainly make for a more interesting story :D

I'm guessing Gir escapes and went to live in a secret land of tacos... but I'll leave it up to you. There's a chance he might reappear later.

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Heh, you guys are all more creative than I am XD


	6. A Touch of Anger

Dib was prepared for a very, very long day. It had already started off brilliantly. He'd gotten virtually no sleep the night before; knowing what he'd discovered yesterday was much more disruptive than a news article. There was a feeling bubbling in the deep pit of his stomach which he couldn't quite place a finger on. It was like a seething mixture of dread and excitement, overlayed with a large amount of anxiety. He'd wound up lying on his bed all night with his face illuminated eerily by the laptop screen, his fingers working overtime as he valiantly battled the Irkens' firewalls and various security devices to gain every scrap of knowledge the Empire's archives contained on PAKs and Irken biology. He struggled through about 40 billion gigabytes of it, but it was all just a very detailed account of what Dib already knew (having hacked Zim's computer a myriad times in the past). Not the answers he was searching for.

Overall, it had been a rather unsuccessful night. And an unfortunate loss of sleep. Just as he was reviewing this something large and heavy hit him in the head.

"OW!"

"Pay attention, Dib!" The PE teacher's voice thrummed right through his skull and out the other side. There was a reason he was the skool ball coach, and it wasn't that he was sort of pudgy and had his own whistle. The lanky teenager wobbled a bit, fighting an epic battle to work out exactly which way was up, and what he was supposed to be paying attention to. The dodge ball rolling around by his feet should have been a memory jogger.

God, he was so _tired. _And now he had a splitting headache and an angry voice in his head to temper that.

He straightened up somewhat. "Whrr…"

The coach was unimpressed. "Dib, if you're going to behave like a sack of potatoes, I don't want you in my game! Go sit outside until we are in desperate need of a victim!"

And it was about to get a whole lot better.

After being too distracted to copy down the notes on dollhouse possession (the bad kind) he'd copped one of Ms Bitters' famous chilling stares. After being too cold to go outside in spattering rain during recess, he'd copped another one from the principal. And when he failed to hand in his essay (which he'd forgotten to finish on account of the whole blood episode), he'd been condemned to spend the remainder of the day in the underground classroom, where he'd wiled away the hours trying to stop spiders from eating his 'alternative task essay'.

All in all, Dib was extremely glad when he was able to limp out of the skool, happily pretending he wasn't riddled with spider bites. It was a fair walk home, since he was weak from either exhaustion, relief or the venom that the spiders may possibly have injected into him, but fortunately the rain had ended abruptly again and was rapidly giving ground to clear sky.

It was around half an hour before he stumbled in through the front door, to be greeted by his father and sister, and the television, all resolutely ignoring his entry. Dib stood in the doorway for a moment, wobbling slightly. But it soon became clear that the only greeting he would get was a grunt from his father (which could have meant just about anything), so he turned on his heel and began the trek up to his bedroom.

It was only natural that he was halfway up the stair when Professor Membrane called up to him.

"Son, I'm leaving again in a few hours. Important business trip. Get some dinner for yourself, will you? Your sister has a gaming convention. How are your grades going at school?"

Dib curled his lip at the greeting he received. Sure, _he _was fine. It was his grades that mattered to the professor.

He stalked up to his room, slamming the door carefully to create just the right sound balance, and flopped down in front of his desk. His school reports were stashed somewhere under the desktop. Bored, Dib took them out and stared dully at them.

A, A, B, A, A.

A, A, B, B, A.

B, C, B, A, C.

He looked down the list. The grades got progressively worse, and so did the comments that went with them.

His father wouldn't be happy. He could just hear Membrane's lecture; _You need to wake up to yourself, son! This paranormal business is affecting your brain. Real science is the road to success!_

Dib growled, slamming the papers down. The school, his family, they were all making him out to be some hopeless freak. Screw them all. He'd seen things those twerps at school didn't even _dream _of. Hell, he'd seen death! How _dare _they tell him he wasn't good enough!

The boy found he was breathing rather hard and clenching the papers tightly; they were crumpling a little. He sighed out and released them. Fresh air, that was what he needed. This whole place reeked of society.

Passing the living room, he noticed that the couch was now empty and the TV set was switched off. Huh, they must have already left without telling him. How nice of his _kin._

The weather had changed dramatically in the last half hour. Despite not being high in the sky, the sun hammered down on Dib, forcing him to walk slower and slower in the heat. And it wasn't just hot, it was _muggy. _Stupidly he'd chosen to walk to the wheat field again, where there happened to be no shade. Dib had hoped that the densely packed stalks might still hold a little coolness or moisture left from the morning shower, but they were dry and hot as kindling. And they scratched annoyingly against his waist and legs, making it even more difficult to walk. Dib was hoping to reach a small clump of trees at the far end of the field, where there'd be shade, quiet and maybe some place he could get himself a drink. Because he'd smartly forgotten a water bottle. How ingenious of him.

Grunting, Dib scratched at the heavy black fabric that was hugging his back. Trench coats might look cool, he decided, and they were definitely practical. But they weren't so good for this dense, sticky city air, and were rather uncomfortable when they were sweaty. Dib would have liked to tear it off, but muggy as it was, he still didn't want to risk sunburn. Not with his pale skin. But this trapped heat was beyond unbearable. Groaning, Dib finally opted to take it off and hold it over his head like a shade cloth. It made his arms ache a little, but at least he wasn't so hot anymore, since there was now a soft breeze blowing. He found it amazing how the air managed to stay so dense even with a breeze blowing. Hang on, it was picking up now. He shivered. The breeze was a wind now. He held tightly to his precious coat as the air leeched into its folds and blew it out, almost wrenching it out of his grip, Quickly, Dib pulled it close to him, struggling to put it on but managing. He squinted up. The sun had disappeared. Grey clouds were scudding across the sky at the speed of an aeroplane. Another weather change! Dib slitted his eyes even more as he stared into the wind, back down the way he'd come. The stalks were being flattened and rippled in an ominous pattern, and dirt and leaves were being tossed into the air. Of course. What did hot, muggy air mean? A storm on the way. And even as the thought occurred to Dib, he spotted the coming threat and his pulse nearly stopped. The cloud was a massive, swirling monster of nature, eating up the miles like they were inches. The boy didn't waste another second. He turned and ran for it.

The wind lashed at him, the wheat stalks beat at him mercilessly. He struggled on, coat hugging his legs and flapping around like some mad bat creature. A peal of thunder split the sky. Damn, this was worse than the time a Vortian ship had entered Earth's atmosphere! Except there was no sign of any ship in the sky above, only that great, black _thing _ that was eating up the city. The wind had long since become a gale, and as Dib finally struggled out of the last of the wheat stalks and pelted at a full stretch across the short expanse of grass, the wind shot after him like a rabid wolf. Snapping at his heels and howling ominously in his ears.

Blind with panic, Dib made a mad dash for the nearest building. He didn't care where he ended up, anything was better than being swallowed by that black cloud. Another crack of thunder and he was wrenching open the unlocked door and tumbling inside.

Din just lay there for a while, shaking and panting. The wind was roaring at him outside, but almost drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Once he'd recovered his composure somewhat, the teen shakily stood up and stared with sudden dread at his surroundings. They were all too familiar, and with a sudden shock of realisation, he knew where he was.

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A/N: Sorry for mild lateness. SCHOOL GOES BACK THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW  
So. Here's the filler, and here's the interesting part I actually wanted to write. Bit of impromptu crankiness, from both Dib and the weather. Weather affects everyone's mood, eh?

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AshSpark: Why, thank you very much! I shall be sure to test this cake theory of yours.

The best story ever? o.o well I don't know about that, but I'm glad you've found enjoyment in it :D

Kazehana23: Yes, Mexico's chickens and piggies are in grave danger. And so, I suspect, are the chupacabras.


	7. The Lecture Room

It took a rather large amount of self-coaching for Dib to peel himself away from the wall, and let go of the coat stand he was holding. Somehow, it didn't seem like those two actions were really going to help at the moment. Not when there seemed to be nothing to hide from… so far. He swallowed a little. What now? Go in further, or stay put? Neither option seemed to appeal. Burrow under the floorboards? Nah, there were probably _more _unspeakable things hiding in the building's foundations. The teen's fingers twitched, aching to grip the weapon tight again. Common sense snapped at them that it was a stupid idea. Survival instincts demanded why common sense had to be so damn _sure _about everything. Dib told his brain to shut up and THINK OF SOMETHING.

And nothing came, because his brain was too numb to answer.

So he walked forward.

The creature lurking within the walls stiffened, feeling the soft vibration of footsteps and the sudden appearance of a new chemical signature in the air. Its eyes narrowed as it ran the signature through its memory bank, finding one very clear match. A human. Human visitors were rare here, and those few foolish ones who entered, maybe once or twice in a year, could be easily frightened off when they heard the resident's fearsome sounds, thinking they were faced with some large, very angry possum. With three very sharp claws.

Huh… it could have sworn there was something overlooked. Something mightily familiar about the stench of hyooman tainting the air. A further investigation had to be made, and with that the creature hoisted itself gracefully onto a shelf, and from there made its way up high. The stench was overpowering, and with a sudden jolt, something clicked in the observer's memory, a long, long relationship of slander and abuse, pain and torment, fierce competition, and a deep, twisted relationship that few people would probably experience; and most would call insane. That should have been the foremost thought in his mind, if he hadn't at that moment received a strong electrical surge up his spine, and every thought of his was suddenly programmed to _Enemy Alert! _followed by _All defences down – RUN LIKE HELL!_

There was no mistaking the skittering of mechanical legs on a ceiling beam. _As odd as that may sound._ All rational thought suddenly abandoning Dib, he took off at a sprint, chasing down the elusive sound that always remained a few steps ahead of him. It was quite a rush of excitement he got, having been anxious and uncertain (scared? Not a chance!) just a few seconds before. Then barely a few seconds of mindless chasing later, the noise faded away completely, leaving a bewildered young investigator, hot on the trail, to come to a sudden standstill.

Ahead was the famous seminar room. Not that Dib himself had ever attended a lecture in there, he'd just crept quietly up to the rotting door, hanging slightly ajar, and took a peek into what was most certainly something out of a child's nightmares. Just the gloomy, curiously delinquent feeling that seemed to come with the silent, brooding chairs and tattered rugs was enough to send a brave man running. And in the corner of the room stood the centrepiece of all this unpleasantness; the massive hulk of the grandfather clock. How it had continued to run this long, no one really understood; of course, Gaz's theory was possession by a demon, and Dib had always been too frightened of the room to prove her theory.

Now he stood on the edge of his toes, teeth digging into his lower lip as he hovered on the brink between proceeding into the room, and running away in the most valiant way possible. He'd convinced himself it wasn't the actual room he was afraid of, but now he was so close to finding what was most probably the alien who had died three years ago, suddenly the idea seemed less appealing than he'd ever dreamed of. Maybe it was just the unnerving setting, and the fact that the wind was still howling up an orchestra outside, but the teen was beginning to doubt himself. He'd never heard Zim make such noises as he'd heard the other day, and the way the alien had pursued him while remaining invisible brought back unpleasant memories of having his lungs stolen and replaced with a cow toy. If indeed it actually _was _the same Irken he knew…

The mad impulse to flee subsided as quickly as it had hit him. Forcing himself to stop, he leaned up against a vertical beam, panting as he tried to recollect his breath and his thoughts, and recalling what had just happened, the creature stuck his long tongue out in revulsion. Tallest damn this broken PAK for telling him to run, when all his life he had fought! _But what if the human was armed? You've got no weapons, except for a few spindly legs._ The less popular part of his brain spoke up, and he slapped it into silence.

Of course he could handle it. The repulsive smell told him exactly who he was dealing with, and almost on automation, the alien began to laugh. Harsh cackling reverberated through the walls, growing gradually louder and more intense. _Why_ was he laughing? Who knew, but perhaps it was the sheer irony that of all the humans to finally discover his amazing hiding place, it just had to be the Dib.

Dib could have sworn he heard a soft noise, causing the bare rafters above him to tremble a little. The teen cocked his head and stood tall, attempting to stretch his neck out in hopes it might possibly make him hear better. A harsh chuckle exploded from the shadows, and it was just about then that Dib practically fell over, a stupid smile slowly spreading across his pale features, for he knew _exactly _whose laugh that was.

Bugger all, he thought. Maybe the alien would try to capture or kill him, or chase him out in a rage. Who cared; somehow it didn't seem to matter. A kind of calmness had settled inside him. He was going to see Zim again. Albeit being an enemy, at least the obnoxious Irken was a familiar face, and Dib felt a little less frightened for the fact. A little less alone.

Catching his breath, Dib quietly pushed open the door to the seminar room.


	8. Reunion?

For what might possibly have been twenty seconds, there was the nerve-shaking _crrrrrrRRRRRRReeeaaaakkk _of the nearly broken door. It seemed to get stuck on its ill-fitting hinges after that, and took several large shoves before bursting open with a nasty cracking sound. Dib, who hadn't been expecting it, fell very neatly on his face and had a mouthful of musty carpet.

He could have sworn he heard a soft intake of breath from… somewhere, and tried to leap to his feet, failing miserably. Having learned that such movements were only _meant _to be performed by trained stuntmen, he pushed himself up more carefully, and managed, aside from bruised knees, to stand up straight and spit the carpet fluff out with an air of quiet dignity.

Great. Now the entry had been managed, it was time to get down to business.

"Hello?" he shouted quietly. Hearing no answer, he shouted again, not so quietly. "HELLOOO!"

Huh… whoever was in here seemed to be mocking him, so he yelled at it to stop. It only mocked him further after this, so he sat down in a huff, wondering how he could possibly lure out the inhabitant who may or may not have left already. Pure stubbornness told him that it hadn't, so he jumped up (slowly, mind you) and attempted to scan the darkness even though he knew very well that his vision would be quite useless.

At the same time, he shuffled further into the room, becoming accustomed to the ticking of the clock but somehow more frightened by the hulking shadows.

In a repetitive fashion, Dib scanned the room four, five, six times, still seeing nothing that appeared to be alive. But there was _definitely_ something in here with the boy, watching him, probably, either with hostile or curious eyes, he couldn't tell. Dib stopped walking. The tingling in his spine was back, and it seemed to centre from a certain direction.

_It's amazing how seldom people tend to look up._

The saying alone made Dib shudder, an icy feeling suddenly replacing the tingling in his neck. It was what a guide had said during a dropbear hunt, if he remembered; but the saying now made the boy involuntarily look up. The ceiling was too dark to see, but maybe he could find a l-

Suddenly he was on his back again with a very sore head. Stupid him, forgetting to watch for cushions. This time, he could have sworn he heard a voice gasp, or maybe it was a trick of the wind. One way or another, he was caught completely by surprise when burnt topaz met glowing magenta.

Zim was clinging to the rafters directly above him, suspending himself by three slender metal legs. His red eyes looked wide and startled at suddenly being found, and he hung quite still, seemingly trying to camouflage. It might have worked if he'd closed those luminous red eyes (they stood out like beacons) but that would mean taking his sights off the human below, who might at any second reveal some kind of gun-looking projectile launcher, or simply leap up and bite him in the throat. As it was, the boy seemed to be pinned to the spot by his pinpoint stare. The human looked lost for words, and to his surprise, he found himself equally tongue-tied.

Dib's tongue was flapping around uselessly in his mouth, having been forsaken by his brain for the moment. For a long, long time the two stared dumbly at each other, human and Irken, before at last Dib found the use of his tongue.

"Zim… you can come down…"

The alien's eyes narrowed marginally, and Dib was pretty much resigned to the Irken either staying put, or jumping down on top of him to eat his face, but he pouted a little when there was no response. So he tried to elaborate.

"Zim, I'm not going to hurt you. See? No weapons…" He raised his hands to show he was unarmed. Zim seemed to accept by slowly lowering himself on his spiderlegs, finding more purchase on the way down until he dropped gently onto the floor, a few metres from Dib. Expecting some kind of shrewd (or spectacularly dumb) opening remark from the alien, the teen was a little disappointed when Zim just stood there, staring at him in a slightly dreamlike way.

"Umm…" Dib's attempt at provoking conversation fell short, but the alien now spoke himself.

"You found me." His voice was dull and flat, so unlike the voice Dib remembered that he frowned slightly. What happened to "_So, you have discovered the mighty ZIM, stinky hyooman!"_. What happened to speaking in _third person? _His voice was hoarse too, and slightly slurred, as if it hadn't been exercised in long time. Who ever heard of Zim not talking?

Dib replied, "Ah… yes."

Zim's eyes didn't change their dull expression, but flicked to a point over Dib's shoulder.

"You broke my door." His tone didn't change either.

Dib turned around, and there was the door he'd entered by hanging hopelessly on one hinge, presumably from when he'd barged through it. "Er… yea. Sorry." he tried pathetically, face heating up a little. This was _definitely_ not how he'd expected a reunion to look.

There was more silence between them.

"So… how have you been?" the boy tried again.

It wasn't until Zim stepped into a slightly better light that Dib realised how tactless that remark had sounded. Seen close up, the little Irken looked pale and drawn, and the skin that was exposed was crisscrossed by a network of scars, mostly old, but some more recent. One of his wrists appeared to be roughly bandaged. His clothes came as a bit of a surprise; he was in a long woollen jumper about a size too big (and it seemed maroon was still the fashion). A scarf wrapped around his waist and over his right shoulder to hold together a rip in the top, the sleeves had been obviously cut short to free his hands, and another hole was cut in the back for his PAK. Under the coat he wore a simple pair of jeans, and no footwear. It was such a strange look that Dib had to bite his tongue to withhold a comment.

Zim was looking Dib up and down at the same time. Not much had changed about the boy's appearance; he'd grown taller, obviously, he still wore his trademark trench coat and boots, but his scythe-lock had lengthened and developed a lightning-shaped jag near the end, and the blue not-smiling face shirt had been forsaken for a deep purple one with an exploding sun on the front.

Zim observed the latter with a slight hint of uneasiness on his face, before tilting his face back up to that of the youth.

"So, what are you doing here, Dib? Did you want me for human experiments?" he didn't even raise his voice at the last part, and Dib became more concerned for his enemy.

"No, I don't want you for experiments, I…" he shifted his gaze, not wanting to admit anything uncomfortable. "..there was a storm, and I had to find shelter…"

Zim flicked his antennae as a particularly violent gust made the brick walls shudder. "So what's new?" he said, sounding more flat than before.

Dib cocked his head. "Eh…? Uh, skool's pretty crap…" Zim's tone was making him fidgety.

"Skool was 'crap', as you call it, for the three years Zim attended that stinky maggot-infested meat hole."

Huh. At least he was talking normally again, but it sounded forced to Dib's ears.

The alien was moving away to sit down on one of the cushions strewn about, and Dib, after an inquiring look, sat on one himself. They both settled back, trying to relax despite the symphony of the dead that was sounding outside. The meagre light that had been slipping through the door and the draped windows had faded in the time Dib had been in there, and he could still hear the wind roaring, and debris hitting the walls. It wouldn't be safe to go home.

The Irken had slouched into a relaxed pose, his head resting against the wall behind him and eyes shut. The human yawned unconsciously at the sight, his own eyes slipping closed. He hadn't realised today had taken so much out of him, but the boy found himself slipping more and more down the wall, into his cushion. He managed to blink his eyes open to see the alien watching him, and he began to feel awkward all over again.

"Umm…"

"You cannot go home tonight, Dib-worm." At first Dib thought the alien might have been threatening him, but he realised the Irken's attention was on the storm outside. It was nice of Zim to acknowledge his predicament without making a mockery of it, but then, the alien didn't seem to be himself today.

"Yeah, I'd get blown to bits." Dib jokingly agreed, not seeing the Irken's little start.

Zim asked the question he's been afraid to ask. "Are you planning on staying with Zim tonight?"

Dib ignored how weird that sounded and nodded his head giddily, before remembering his manners. "Yes, I mean, if you don't mind, of course. Only for the night."

Zim nodded slowly, his reply sounding distant. "Only for the night…"

Having sorted this, the Irken rummaged around a bit, finding a couple of sheets that may or may not have been blankets or drapes, and was arranging them into a semi-comfortable nest for himself. Having made his sleeping arrangements, he settled in immediately and turned away from Dib, grumbling a half-hearted 'goodnight'.

Dib replied, sorting out his own 'blankets' into something that might keep him adequately warm. He burrowed himself in, curling up to try and stay warm. The howling of the wind did little to help him, and after a deal of wriggling, he managed to get almost comfortable.

Dib opened his eyes a crack to peek at the alien, and found that Zim wasn't asleep at all. His red eyes were open and fixed out on the room, and possibly on the clock in the far corner. His lines were slightly rigid, as if he were standing guard. Or sitting guard. Dib felt somewhat comforted by the sight of his rival apparently 'watching over' the room (loath he was to admit it, of course) and eventually slipped into sleep.

* * *

A/N: Yay, a chapter where some stuff happens!  
Had a nightmare trying to write this; plenty of distractions and blocks for me, (the main one was Zim's clothes) so I am very happy to be finished.  
I drew about a million sketches of Zim's attire in an attempt to get a feel for it. While I was thinking this weird image of Zim in a tailcoat much too big for him came to mind, and made me laugh. Zim looks adorable in clothes that don't fit him. I think there's something wrong with my mind e_e

Eh, enjoy :D and thanks for all the positive feedback! You people ROCK!

* * *

Lostseason: You are not a good writer? LIES! Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy my cliffhangers :D

Kazehana23: Because that is the way of things... ): I hope you enjoy this anti-cliffhanger!

AshSpark: Yes, I do enjoy writing those head-wars. And Dib's head-wars are especially entertaining. No evil laugh can compare to Zim's.

Yanagi of the Wind: Wow, I think you explained your feelings pretty well there :'D thank you so much! And since everyone seems to think the secret land of tacos is Mexico, I won't argue

Alicia: You shall find out... :)


	9. And Now Dib Shall Muse For You

It took a rather large amount of self-coaching for Dib to peel himself away from the wall, and let go of the coat stand he was holding. Somehow, it didn't seem like those two actions were really going to help at the moment. Not when there seemed to be nothing to hide from… so far. He swallowed a little. What now? Go in further, or stay put? Neither option seemed to appeal. Burrow under the floorboards? Nah, there were probably _more _unspeakable things hiding in the building's foundations. The teen's fingers twitched, aching to grip the weapon tight again. Common sense snapped at them that it was a stupid idea. Survival instincts demanded why common sense had to be so damn _sure _about everything. Dib told his brain to shut up and THINK OF SOMETHING.

And nothing came, because his brain was too numb to answer.

So he walked forward.

The creature lurking within the walls stiffened, feeling the soft vibration of footsteps and the sudden appearance of a new chemical signature in the air. Its eyes narrowed as it ran the signature through its memory bank, finding one very clear match. A human. Human visitors were rare here, and those few foolish ones who entered, maybe once or twice in a year, could be easily frightened off when they heard the resident's fearsome sounds, thinking they were faced with some large, very angry possum. With three very sharp claws.

Huh… it could have sworn there was something overlooked. Something mightily familiar about the stench of hyooman tainting the air. A further investigation had to be made, and with that the creature hoisted itself gracefully onto a shelf, and from there made its way up high. The stench was overpowering, and with a sudden jolt, something clicked in the observer's memory, a long, long relationship of slander and abuse, pain and torment, fierce competition, and a deep, twisted relationship that few people would probably experience; and most would call insane. That should have been the foremost thought in his mind, if he hadn't at that moment received a strong electrical surge up his spine, and every thought of his was suddenly programmed to _Enemy Alert! _followed by _All defences down – RUN LIKE HELL!_

There was no mistaking the skittering of mechanical legs on a ceiling beam. _As odd as that may sound._ All rational thought suddenly abandoning Dib, he took off at a sprint, chasing down the elusive sound that always remained a few steps ahead of him. It was quite a rush of excitement he got, having been anxious and uncertain (scared? Not a chance!) just a few seconds before. Then barely a few seconds of mindless chasing later, the noise faded away completely, leaving a bewildered young investigator, hot on the trail, to come to a sudden standstill.

Ahead was the famous seminar room. Not that Dib himself had ever attended a lecture in there, he'd just crept quietly up to the rotting door, hanging slightly ajar, and took a peek into what was most certainly something out of a child's nightmares. Just the gloomy, curiously delinquent feeling that seemed to come with the silent, brooding chairs and tattered rugs was enough to send a brave man running. And in the corner of the room stood the centrepiece of all this unpleasantness; the massive hulk of the grandfather clock. How it had continued to run this long, no one really understood; of course, Gaz's theory was possession by a demon, and Dib had always been too frightened of the room to prove her theory.

Now he stood on the edge of his toes, teeth digging into his lower lip as he hovered on the brink between proceeding into the room, and running away in the most valiant way possible. He'd convinced himself it wasn't the actual room he was afraid of, but now he was so close to finding what was most probably the alien who had died three years ago, suddenly the idea seemed less appealing than he'd ever dreamed of. Maybe it was just the unnerving setting, and the fact that the wind was still howling up an orchestra outside, but the teen was beginning to doubt himself. He'd never heard Zim make such noises as he'd heard the other day, and the way the alien had pursued him while remaining invisible brought back unpleasant memories of having his lungs stolen and replaced with a cow toy. If indeed it actually _was _the same Irken he knew…

The mad impulse to flee subsided as quickly as it had hit him. Forcing himself to stop, he leaned up against a vertical beam, panting as he tried to recollect his breath and his thoughts, and recalling what had just happened, the creature stuck his long tongue out in revulsion. Tallest damn this broken PAK for telling him to run, when all his life he had fought! _But what if the human was armed? You've got no weapons, except for a few spindly legs._ The less popular part of his brain spoke up, and he slapped it into silence.

Of course he could handle it. The repulsive smell told him exactly who he was dealing with, and almost on automation, the alien began to laugh. Harsh cackling reverberated through the walls, growing gradually louder and more intense. _Why_ was he laughing? Who knew, but perhaps it was the sheer irony that of all the humans to finally discover his amazing hiding place, it just had to be the Dib.

Dib could have sworn he heard a soft noise, causing the bare rafters above him to tremble a little. The teen cocked his head and stood tall, attempting to stretch his neck out in hopes it might possibly make him hear better. A harsh chuckle exploded from the shadows, and it was just about then that Dib practically fell over, a stupid smile slowly spreading across his pale features, for he knew _exactly _whose laugh that was.

Bugger all, he thought. Maybe the alien would try to capture or kill him, or chase him out in a rage. Who cared; somehow it didn't seem to matter. A kind of calmness had settled inside him. He was going to see Zim again. Albeit being an enemy, at least the obnoxious Irken was a familiar face, and Dib felt a little less frightened for the fact. A little less alone.

Catching his breath, Dib quietly pushed open the door to the seminar room.


	10. Nearly the same

It was the same dream Zim had every night. Nearly the same.

The alien bit back his scream of terror, trying not to flail against the unseen, but impossibly strong, binds that held him to the table. It wasn't real. It wasn't really happening. Time keeping swaying-things did not become huge, deadly-sharp instruments of torture. Needless to say the pendulum _did _look very like a blade, even in sunlight –this was its dark dwelling hole, where it could, and would, exert its full horrible power on a poor, vulnerable defect.

_Zim is NOT vulnerable!_

_All defects are vulnerable, little smeet. All defects must be eliminated._

_No! _It was all in his mind. His mind… seemed to want him dead. Now that was a sad thought, and one Zim refused altogether to acknowledge even as he watched the cutting edge flash by, this time mere feet from his torso. _Cutting edge? _The alien almost smiled at the irony of that thought. Here he knew that Irken technology was by far the cutting-edge of the Irken-known universe (the race made doubly sure it wasn't to be outdone), and here he was staring death in the face – in the form of a primitive earth instrument.

_A worthy end of an unworthy soldier._

_SHUT UP!_

The first twinge of fear was felt when the blade nipped his skin. _It's not real. It's not real. _Then why could he, clear as day, see the green blood welling on his skin? Why could he taste its tang on the air when the pendulum passed again? Bile built up in his throat; and his squeedlyspooch gave an awful little lurch. Zim swallowed thickly. Traditionally, it was Irken taboo to feel sickness at the stench of blood. It showed weakness. But he couldn't stop it. Fear. Every night he tried to stop the coiling black monster eating away at his squeedlyspooch, and every night it got just a little closer to consuming the little spirit he'd managed to cling to. Each night he would try to bite his tongue and scorn imminent demise, and each night he felt his will weaken a little further. One more time was too much, and he shut his eyes, preparing to take what was coming to him.

Before Zim could let the shriek of terror escape, he suddenly felt… warmth. It wasn't the chill of the blade and the warmth his own blood, but something else. He dared open his eyes. Gold. That was all. No blackness of death, no despair. A warm hand was in his own, and it wasn't wet with blood.

_Don't be afraid._

"I'm…I'm not." Zim didn't order his tongue to speak, but the soft words slipped out. The warmth of the hand and the golden gaze lulling him mysteriously, the alien felt himself slipping away…

Zim grunted and rolled over.

It wasn't morning yet, he could tell that much. Nothing was to be gained by opening his eyes, so he lay as still as possible in the dark, not too keen on either going back into the horrible sleep-world or waking up fully and facing life. His squeedlyspooch ached dully, and he curled up with a moan. It wasn't hunger this time. It was the strange empty feeling he got every time he thought about where he was now. Not on Irk. Not in the wondrous (inferior) panorama of space. In a derelict earth structure, unwanted and alone. Leaderless.

A thought of golden eyes danced through his mind. Stupid human. Stupid Dib, thinking he could ignore Zim like this. He knew where his nemesis _lived, _didn't he? So why wasn't he fighting Zim?

_Am I worthless even to the Dib now?_

_After all we endured?_

_After I saved his miserable life?_

Such thoughts served to make his belly hurt more, so the best course of action seemed to be relaxing and trying… very hard… to not think.

Little sounds began to filter their way into his sensitive feelers; the kind of sounds one only hears when half asleep in the still part of the morning. Birds were waking on the next block, ruffling and extending their feathers. The city's nighttime wraiths; dextrous possums, cunning rats, retreated stealthily before the promise of harsh sunlight and the stirring of huge lumbering daytime beasts. Smelly, overdressed humans scuttled off to their lumbering vehicles; he could hear a worm-baby mewling inside a house, and the grouchy huff of its tired parental unit. They all sounded so calm; not at all concerned about the concept of impending demise. The Irken just couldn't comprehend such blissful ignorance! Weren't they even a little scared?

He could hear deeper as well. Around dawn he would pull his antennae in, repulsed by the sizzling of dew being destroyed by the sun. It wasn't dawn yet, though, and the wheat field was silent. The night creatures had retreated. Deep underground was a muffled rushing. _Ugh, water!_ The water pipe that ran directly underneath the city was the last thing he felt like listening to. The rushing noise of deadly earth acid brought back some very unpleasant memories to the Irken's mind. About to flatten his antennae and hopefully block it out, a slight deviation in the movement of the ground had his full attention back. Something was rumbling as it pushed downward through the thick mud, and Zim's interest perked a little before a soft scaping noise, followed by a crack, made his antennae shoot up in horror. The rushing noise was suddenly more pronounced, and definitely travelling _upward._

The alien gasped, standing bolt upright in a second as he swivelled the two black feelers, hoping to detect the path the rushing sound was following. A cold feeling sunk into his chest, then his belly, and his legs suddenly began to shake.

There had to be a mistake. He craned his neck, testing once more for sound.

It couldn't be.

The sky slowly faded to a cold, unforgiving grey as a small, lithe figure slipped for the first time out of his three-year home. It was a matter of safety.

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A/N: This chapter makes me angry. I started it on Thursday, and didn't finish till Saturday. It was really hard to write for some reason, and not just because of constant distractions. I went back and made some changes, but I'm still not proud of it.  
I had take serious emergency actions so I could work on this chapter in peace.  
I think the plot's moving too fast...

Enjoy anyway. Today I'll probably get to work on the next chapter (once I have accomplished my first task, which is to get a new set of colour pencils. I even dreamed about them last night), which I think you may find a little interesting.


	11. Aquaphylactic Shock

The window had been left closed when Dib went to sleep, so it was odd that the room was suddenly chilly. A soft vapour tickled the sleeping teen's nose, and it managed to hover there for a second before he sneezed violently, waking himself in the process. The action also caused Dib's covers to slip right off him, leaving him exposed. Rather cross at being awakened so early, the boy leaned down blindly to pick up his blankets (finding them more heavy than usual), draped them over himself, and became even more vexed when he discovered a few moments later that they had soaked liquid through his pyjamas. Dib pouted. Now he'd have to get up and change!

The floor was unusually cold and damp this morning. Displaying all the suavity of someone who was half asleep and in wet pyjamas, Dib didn't stop to ponder this as he weaved his way dextrously down the almost perfectly empty, straight-as-a-stick hallway that lead quite clearly to the bathroom. It wasn't until he lost his footing and delivered a spectacular double-footed slide tackle to a small hallway-dwelling box, and wetness soaked all the way up through his pants, that he finally lost the ability to ignore what he had been trying to dismiss as a case of I'm-not-quite-awake-yet-give-me-a-minute syndrome, and screamed

"WHY IS THERE WATER ON THE FLOOR?"

In his mind, at least. What really came out, more softly, was

"Huh… I don't recall being that desperate for a toilet during the night."

After he _had_ done the necessaries, Dib found his vague kind of sleepy annoyance growing more pronounced when he couldn't get any water out of the tap. He felt slightly dizzy when he tried to wrap his head around the connection this may or may not have had with all the water in the hallway (and apparently in all the other rooms along the landing). The dizziness may have been simple tiredness, or it may have been the odd musty, earthy, plastic-y smell that was slowly filling the room. What _was _that? Dib took a deep whiff – unfortunately through his mouth. Horrible taste. He could detect a whole lot of dirt and clay, as well as quite a few unnamed chemicals which were probably quite poisonous to humans…

_Hack! _He coughed violently and passed out.

Gaz walked out, raised and eyebrow at the sleeping figure on the floor, prodded him sharply, failed to wake him, kicked at him, failed to wake him and went downstairs.

Dib remained asleep, and the sound of rushing water became more audible as it echoed through the watertight rooms of the house.

"Hello the house!" A green head rose gradually above the windowline, peering in at the rooms behind the reinforced glass.

"M-Membrane house? Dib Membrane?"

Dib grunted disapprovingly. "I' no- D- Membbbrne…" he mumbled in his sleep, rolling over in the landing-sized puddle.

The visitor smacked his head. "FINE! Dib… not-Membrane…human…" he paused, eyes flickering uncertainly. "Hey… WAKE UP, DIB!"

Dib snored at him, a fog of musty, chemical-infested air wrapping snugly around his conscious and constricting it. Gotta love Professor Membrane's triple-laminated, reinforced bedroom windows. The green visitor raised an invisible eyebrow and hit the barrier angrily with his head, sending violent, nerve-killing shockwaves down his spine and causing the already precariously maintained extendable legs to shut off completely and go lax. He managed to scratch Dib's window on the way down, before hitting the lawn with a muffled thump.

Dib woke up.

"Ugh, what was-?" He shook his head against the accumulating vapour, before rubbing the headache he'd managed to create. The rushing sound in his head was becoming more pronounced by the second; while still far off. It _was_ in his head, wasn't it…?

The lower window was only double-laminated.

A splintering crash reverberated through the residence, and through a jagged hole dropped a lithe, red-eyed alien. He scanned the Membrane's living room with a laser-point gaze, then cried out when he felt the acidic touch of liquid on his skin. Glancing down, Zim realised the water he'd been dreading was now high enough to lap the furniture. This stupid chemical-filled human water was going to destroy him if he didn't find a way to stay out of it! But he had to reach the Dib; since it seemed to have become his sole purpose to protect the silly creature. Though he couldn't fathom why.

Poised on top of the couch with water swirling around near his feet, the Irken screwed his eyes shut, willing with all his might for the spiderlegs to deploy. His PAK beeped madly in protest, sending a minor shock up his spine, nearly stunning him, but Zim's willpower somehow won over and the legs exploded out rather abruptly. Zim cautiously placed two in the water, testing his weight on them. They wobbled, but held firm. The alien shifted his weight and placed the other working leg on the floor, beginning the delicate trip to the staircase at the other end of the vast lounge room. He was regretful of the one useless broken leg; it compromised quite a lot of his speed and grace; but at least there was one less leg he had to concentrate on; it took a _lot_ of mental power to stop the faulty PAK from cutting his connection to them. It was painfully slow progress. One of the legs caught in that stupid Official Prof. Membrane Lamp, and he came very close to plunging into the swirling broth, managing to pull up with a courageous effort.

What he had seen on the way down had nearly stopped his heart – some of the plastic on the lamp's cable had been torn away, probably during a fight between the human siblings, and there were _live wires _showing. If the water reached the delicate twisted fibres, it would mean the end for both him and Dib!

"Dib!" he shouted, voice cracking desperately. "DIB YOU HORRIBLE STINK-CREATURE, YOU'RE IN DANGER!"

He began to hobble desperately in the direction of the stairs. He had to reach them in time, if he didn't…

Some kind of primitive intuition made him turn, and he froze in horror at the sight that said he was clearly too late. The water seemed, in slow motion, to nudge the treacherous cables. For an impossibly long heartbeat, nothing seemed to happen, then a tingling erupted right up the metal shafts of the legs that were all but dangling Zim above potential doom, followed by a tremendous jolt of energy that ripped up his spine and all but deadened his PAK, cutting off the alien's cry. His last sight was of the hideous, churning torrent of water.

Dib dashed the rest of the way down the stairs on hearing the loud splash and his name being shouted, somehow failing to slip on all the water. The first thing he did, with a surprising burst of lucidity, was switch off the lamp at the powerpoint and pull out the plug, just as a precaution. Somewhere in his addled brain he'd remembered that the wire casing was frayed thanks to one of Gaz's bad days (it had been the smallest bit of damage done). Having accomplished this, he turned his gaze, finally, to the rest of the room. The vapour hadn't accumulated down here, so he was quite able to wrap his head around the fact that the living room was in full flood. Dib stared. The water was nearly up to the couch cushions, and he had no idea where it was coming from!

His father had, on one of his few spare days, decided that he should make the entire house watertight in case of a flood (this was a time several years ago when a small plesiosaur had somehow invaded the city's dam) and he'd also thoughtfully invented an automatic deadlocking system which, being only a prototype, didn't yet have an unlocking mechanism. Very handy for an outdoor flood, but not so much this…

Clearly it would be unthinkable to stay here, so juggling time in his head, Dib splashed through the sodden lounge, grabbed his schoolbag and emptied as much of the pantry as he could into it. It seemed that the water was seeping up through the drain, possibly all the drains in the house. Holding his breath he dashed upstairs to grab his clothes, skidding wildly back down with everything slung precariously over his back. Returning once again to the loungeroom, Dib suddenly noticed, out the corner of his eye, a shape suspended motionless in the water. Wading over to the partially-floating shape, he recognised three skeletal, spearlike things spread out around it, eerily familiar.

Could it be…?

Dib reached in and pulled the sodden form into open air. His breath caught in his throat. It was Zim, and the alien had been critically injured, by the look of it. His eyes were shut tight and his skin steamed upon contact with the air. Wait… Zim was allergic to water, wasn't he?

Never mind what the alien had been doing in here, he had to get them both out. But all the doors and windows were locked fast. After staring desperately around with the immobile Irken in his arms, Dib spied the front window which had a rather large, jagged hole in it. Well, that would explain how his visitor got in.

Dib carefully manoeuvred the alien out the opening, before climbing out himself with a rather regretful last look into the loungeroom. Was Gaz okay? Her door had been open and the GSIV was gone, so she must have left for the game store. So the house was empty. Reassured, Dib turned his back on the flooding house, jumping out to freedom.


	12. Always a First Aid Time

The boy dropped to the grass with a thud, evoking barely a twitch from the injured alien lying beside him. Dib shakily crawled over to the prone figure, tipping Zim's face up toward him and peering closely at the alien's pain-wracked features. Looking at his state, the Irken would definitely need medical attention, but this was clearly a bad place to give him a checkover. The grass was moist with dew, and he could clearly see the pale yellow wash creeping into the eastern sky. It would soon be dawn, and to be caught out with an unconscious alien, more so a sopping wet one riddled with second-degree burns, would surely attract unwanted attention.

Cautiously, Dib bent to pick up the alien, scooping his arms in under the body. This action obviously aggravated the burnt flesh, because Zim suddenly gave a yelp and squirmed away from the painful touch, causing Dib to yank his hands away in alarm. He bit his lip, looking at the alien apprehensively. Well, this was going to be tricky. He tried approaching from several angles, sure that none of them would be comfortable let alone painless. When Zim began to moan and shiver, Dib's worry increased. He had to find a safe place for the Irken, and quickly! But he had no way to carry Zim, unless… his trench coat.

In a swift movement the boy had yanked off his dry coat and carefully bundled the trembling E.T. inside it, making sure not to bump anything the wrong way. Zim grunted as he was lightly jostled, but didn't wriggle. That was hopefully a good sign, unless it meant he was getting weaker. Thankfully the Irken was skinnier than him, and not too heavy.

With both arms loaded and bag on his back, Dib staggered to his feet. He tipped his head up to the east. The glow of the sun could clearly be seen now, and as much as the teen wanted to feel the gentle warmth on his wet, shivering self, he set his mouth and began to walk as quickly as possible in an eastward direction, heading for the only place he could think to take them both.

Dib felt as though he'd completed a military exercise by the time he navigated his way across the town. Especially being in bare feet and wet pyjamas, it was near hell for the boy with the limp alien in his arms, wrapped snug into his coat. The sun stung his eyes but offered little heat; however, by the time he'd stumbled across the wheat field (fearful of biting wheat creatures, several of which complied to sample him) he was visibly steaming from the exertion. That was _one _way to get clothes dry, he thought sourly, before turning his gaze to the brooding dark building that stood stark against the morning sky.

Dib grinned when a thought crossed his mind; it was perfect for Zim. It looked defiant and ancient, remaining the same as the city grew up around it. Although it may have lacked the Irken's personal flare, as did his former green base, it reflected his proud, defiant personality. Then an image of a charred, smoking heap of cables and a ragged, dull-eyed alien wiped the smile off his face. Feeling rather sullen now, he nudged oen the slightly ajar door and stepped anxiously into the musty interior.

Onto a bare patch of floor the unconscious alien was laid. The boy stared down at him. He looked so vulnerable like this. It would be so easy just to slice him open, spill his organs to prod and examine, or whisk him off to the Eyeballs. Yet Dib didn't feel any warm satisfaction from that thought. He didn't know- it was like trapping a mouse and then being told to kill it. It took away all the pride of the moment and left you with a cold, sick feeling. Not that he'd _thought _about holding the alien captive, of course! Had he…?

Dib shivered and suddenly remembered that he was frozen stiff from walking across the town in the sleepy part of the morning, in soaking wet pyjamas. He bit his lip, realising he'd have to get them off. Much as he wanted to figure out what to do for Zim, he certainly didn't want his muscles cramping up entirely while he was doing it. He couldn't do anything for Zim when he was incapacitated himself. Nodding to himself, Dib stood up and went to get his bag, eager to get into dry clothes.

The prospect of undressing in front of Zim made him feel a little uncomfortable. When attempting to actually take off his shirt, the feeling increased tenfold. Dib sighed. Yes, he was a wuss. But Zim would be fine just until he got back, right? A whimper from the alien told him to hurry up about it.

Scooting into a nearby room to change, Dib discovered the first useful thing. A first aid kit. It was practically a godsend, sitting there on the staffroom table (which was apparently the room he'd scooted into), bathed in dust and murky sunlight. The second thing he discovered was a linen cupboard. He joined in with the irony and grinned.

Returning to his casualty with the kit and a few (hopefully clean) towels in hand, Dib wondered briefly how he'd go about removing the alien's pants. There'd definitely be some burning on Zim's legs; jeans had their limits. He gratefully decided that he'd worry about that when the time came. Priorities first.

After untying the scarf from Zim and then prying it off himself (it was sopping wet and draped around him like a soggy snake), Dib got his fingers up under the hem of the maroon jumper and slowly worked it up over the alien's torso. Zim gave barely a twitch as he did so, and it worried Dib. All he could feel were the gentle tremors signalling that the Irken's breathing, if shallow, was still present.

There was a brief scare when he couldn't quite work the alien's arms out of his sleeves, and Zim yelped and gave a little kick at Dib when the fibres, scratchy when wet, teased his sore skin.

"Ow…" The teen rubbed his now mildly bruised leg and got back to work with a set mouth. Reflexes were a good sign, right?

He finally succeeded in pulling the top over the Irken's large green head (almost as large as his…!) and bit his tongue to curb the shout of dismay that followed. It looked bad. Bad was an understatement. Dib almost couldn't bear to look at the grotesque patchwork covering Zim's torso. The jade green skin may have once been smooth, but now it was littered with blistering sores and even steamed a little in the crisp air. Even without touching it Dib could feel the waves of heat emanating from it, and Zim was still shuddering occasionally. Could he be feverish? Did aliens get fevers? That was one thing Irken archives hadn't told him. Dib very cautiously placed his hand on Zim's forehead, recoiling and wincing when it inevitably burned. A soft moan from the alien tore his attention away from his own tingling palm. What was he doing? Wasting time? The boy set his mouth, not so much trying to assert himself as force last night's dinner to stay where it was. Tending to an injured body was said to be nauseating. Well, now he had the experience first hand.

Fighting a savage battle with his nerves, which were trying very hard to slink away into a dark corner, Dib reached for the towel and began very gently drying the Irken's top half with slow, precise dabs. It was time consuming and nerve rattling (Zim's shuddering drew worried looks more than once, and was a living nightmare to work around), but finally he had the alien acceptably dry and looking visibly less agitated.

Oh dear. Now for the less anticipated part. Dib dropped his gaze apprehensively to the alien's damp jeans. Clearly they'd need to be removed if he wanted to fully dry Zim, and the wet denim must be causing him some pain anyway. But it felt wrong… oh so wrong. What if Zim suddenly woke up and got the wrong idea? There must be another-

Dib smacked his forehead harshly. He was being a wuss, trying to shun the inevitable! He hadn't just carried his unconscious extraterrestrial …nemesis?... all the way across town in the unpleasantly crisp morning air just to stop here. Setting his jaw firm once more, Dib grasped the rough material and prepared to yank; common sense catching up and checking him barely in time to stop himself tearing off the jeans and ripping an awful lot of burnt skin in the process.

He'd need a better way to do this, but he still didn't find the idea of exposing Zim entirely appealing (disowning the mildly intrigued, in a sick, twisted sort of way, feeling), so he whipped out another handy towel and placed it over the area of concern. Having organised this, Dib sat back, starting to form a very reluctant idea in his mind. He'd seen a little knife lying in one of the open dusty drawers, almost a rather large version of a penknife and used for slicing open book boxes. He was back with it in no time. Now – he sucked in a breath – time for some risky business. Taking the hem of a jean leg, he worked the blade into it and opened it in a quick slash, thankfully steering clear of any actual skin. He then proceeded to tease the fabric, tearing it until the jeans eventually came off; and thankfully, after all that, the towel had, in an uncanny act of obedience, stayed put.

Dib then turned to the first aid box. He hadn't gotten a chance to look inside yet; it'd be a blow if it didn't have what he needed. The metal catches stuck before giving way, and Dib lifted the lid to take a peek. Bingo! The teen gratefully pulled out bandages, plasters and an assortment of balms, one of which, he was pleased to discover, claimed to be for burns. He wasn't quite sure whether you were meant to put cream on burns of this magnitude, but it seemed logical as he certainly couldn't put water on these ones. Dib sincerely hoped it was compatible with the alien skin. Another allergic reaction was the last thing Zim, and himself, needed. He retrieved a sanitary cloth from the kit, dabbing a little of the thick substance onto it and doing a patch test on a slightly more protected area of skin, and held his breath while he waited. It was an immense relief when the skin didn't swell, turn dark or simply dissolve, so the teen proceeded to apply good quantities of the stuff wherever it was needed, stopping only when every last burn was covered. There wasn't much balm left by the end.

Exhaling, Dib sat back on his haunches and looked over his work. The alien had squirmed a tiny bit when the cold balm touched him, but he hadn't moaned or screamed, which Dib was very grateful for. It saved him from panic himself.

The alien was certainly looking less pained than he had, in fact, he appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully under the blanket Dib had given him. It didn't look like Zim needed any more immediate attention, so Dib bundled his trench coat into a ball, leaning down and using it to prop himself up. Ahh… he hadn't realised how tired he was. Dib yawned and sagged gently into the makeshift pillow. He wouldn't allow himself to sleep yet. Not until the balm did its work, and he could be sure the Irken was out of the woods, at least for now. The silly alien had wandered into _his _house, so it must be _his _responsibility to help him. Dib satisfied himself with that explanation for lack of a better one. Relaxing, he watched his patient through half-lidded eyes, waiting for the Irken to stir.


	13. Sorrows and Solace

A/N: Wow. Heh... it's been a while. So sorry for being ultra-mega-uber-slow with this update. My drive's been at zero for weeks. I hope this longish chapter sort of makes up for it...? This was written and edited in one go, so please point out any overlooked flaws. Thank you all for the continued support, you're the reason this story is alive! :D *hugs readers*

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Something was lurking in the dark recesses of Zim's subconscious. In a gradual transition, the peaceful emptiness disappeared, leaving a surreal kind of darkness, like the surface of a deep black ocean. Inside it skulked random thoughts that buzzed and flashed before Zim's mind. He tried vainly to grasp some, but it was like catching flies or slippery eels – they simply skirted his outstretched 'claws'.

His mind squirmed and flailed in helpless confusion, trying to latch onto some kind of reality; and hold. The first thought that came back was a sense of déjà vu. The Irken had felt this sense of random, floating surrealism before, but where, when? In what dimension?

Slowly and reluctantly, other thoughts and memories floated home. He could remember… fire. Crumbling, eroding walls. Gold…

…

_Gold?_

…

Dib had almost dozed off when he sensed something stir. He sat up with a whipcord movement, immediately yelping as the action mildly jarred his back, which had grown stiff from the hours its owner had lain in that awkward propped-up position. Was it a chupacabra? A rat? He hadn't really thought about what creatures might be sharing the building with them. He'd been too busy looking after… er, _guarding _the small green alien sprawled beside him, albeit from a good few metres away. The hapless little Irken hadn't moved for a long time. Could he be waking now?

"_Don't leave~!"_

"Wh-whuh?!" The sudden outburst had Dib bristling in shock. "Zim?"

Day had turned to night while they'd been in Zim's musty refuge, but beyond the dreary fingers of darkness he spotted a blanket-wrapped shape thrashing and crying.

"_Don't leave me alone! Please!" _

Something in the helpless, whimpering tone made a cord snap in Dib's heart. Perhaps it was just a natural response to hearing a creature/person in torment, or perhaps it was something more…

"Why~? Where are you going? Don't leave Zim!"

"Zim, chill! Calm down!" Dib crawled over to the Irken, shaking his small shoulder in an attempt to bring him back to reality. He could swear there were tears in the alien's eyes, and the sick feeling in his gut increased in volume.

Was this guilt? Why did he feel guilty?

At the abrupt shaking, Zim recoiled violently, yelping and clawing fiercely at the boy's hand. In the alien's mind, heavy coils were twisting around his body, wanting to squeeze, and crush the life and soul out of him. He didn't want to be here again, why did he keep coming here? What had he done to be abandoned like this?

Dib flinched back when Zim reacted, heart banging against his chest. He thought about trying to pull the tightening blankets off him, but feared more negative responses. Damn it! What could he do? What were you meant to do when someone freaked out in their sleep like this?

Dib wracked his brain with some difficulty, fighting against panic to think over Zim's tortured wails. He'd never had a mother, being a genetic clone (something he'd long since stopped agonising over), and his father wasn't the sort to comfort his children, let alone know about these things. He recalled some nurse saying that taking someone having night terrors into fresh air would calm them down, but the teen was loathe to move Zim for fear of those slashing claws.

Zim's moans were growing more and more terrified; liquid streamed from his eyes and he seemed to be scratching at his upper body as if under attack, claws digging in, damaging the vulnerable, weakened skin further. He was going to make his injuries worse if he kept that up!

"Zim, stop it!" Dib shouted, voice high with panic. Eyes flashing a frightened tawny colour, he scanned wildly around, having a sudden desperate idea. He snatched the first item that came to hand – his bundled-up trench coat – taking a vague, uncertain aim and hurling it. It struck the writhing figure squarely in the back, and with a shudder, his cries died.

The coils pressing in on his ribs unfathomably, painfully tight, the demonic glint of the blade's arc closing in for a kill; both vanished with a sudden jolt, like something big had hit him. At first terror spiked back up and he curled away in defense, hissing silently at the invisible attacker. But the object – creature, thing, whatever it was - wasn't hurting him. He waited, but nothing happened. The frightful visions subsided back to their realm of despair and shattered hope, leaving Zim back in the folds of silent, fuzzy darkness, on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. The kniving dread had fled for the hills, leaving in its place an unpleasant ache. His abdomen tightened, nausea swirling within, and his chest gave a shuddering heave as more of the hot liquid seeped from his eyes. Why was it doing that? Was he ill? Or was it to do with this dreary, empty, achy feeling?

The Irken reached around to feel the object which had struck him and jerked him out of the terror-world. It felt soft and bunched between his claws. There was something oddly calming and familiar about its texture also, bringing other memories back which had initially hunched in the dark corner of his mind, bristling. Yes, those memories were coming back. _ Gold…_

The alien's cries had died down to a gentle sobbing, and Dib's anxiety relaxed; mostly. He had no idea what was going on in Zim's head, but whatever dream that was, it must've been a horrid one. Dib had had his share of nightmares as a child, even as a teenager occasionally, and he felt bad for the alien. If in fact it was a nightmare. How could he be sure? From what he could make out, Irkens weren't really meant to sleep much anyway, and when they did, they slept very lightly. He'd have to ask a few questions when Zim was feeling better.

For now, he crawled over to the shaking form with a pitying frown. The sight put an odd ache in his chest. No, make that a strong pain. Zim wasn't _supposed _to fall so low, he was an Irken! Dib had always thought that _he_ would be the one responsible for the alien's downfall.

_/The expression on Zim's face tore right through Dib, a mask of pure animal terror./_ Oh right, he did. And he hadn't enjoyed it. Choking down the horrible guilty sensation, he tried to rouse the alien again, more gently this time.

"Zim…? Come on, you're safe. Open your eyes…"

The soft voice melted through the barrier Zim had tried to build around his mind, making his heart-like muscle miss a beat, causing both hope and grief to pool in his stomach. His antennae had lain idle for the most part, too limp to move, but now they began to pick up a distinguished scent and set of brainwaves. Interestingly, the scent and brainwaves showed a feeling he'd never come across before, or maybe once, three years ago. Concern. He cracked open a cloudy eye to confirm his hunch. He saw gold.

The human caught a glint of magenta behind gummed jade eyelids, and watched as his little alien nemesis peeked open first one eye, then the other, presumably looking up at Dib. His eyes were clouded with the minute remnants of fear and pain, and his expression was showing… hope? Maybe. But there were other feelings mixed in there, grief, loneliness, torment. Hope. Overall the Irken looked like a small, lost child; eyes huge and pleading, body hunched in uncertainty, antennae wilted over his head like dead flowers. Dib felt the sick, piteous feeling rise again. The ex-invader was the very picture of wretchedness.

Snapping out of his musings, Dib realised the alien's lips were moving; he was trying to form words – and his taloned hand reached weakly toward the boy – again, adding to the picture of a needy child. Dib blinked down at it, uncertain of how he should respond. He'd never been shown affection before. He had a fair idea of what it entailed, having seen plenty among his fellow humans, but had never actually given or received it; even his sister had never touched him in a non-painful way. Should he try now, or would it terrify the Irken? Irkens didn't have affection either. Perhaps it would be traumatic for both of them? Something told him it wouldn't be…

The alien's mouthing twisted itself into words; slurred, but Dib understood them.

"D-Don't go away… from Zim…"

Dib's human instinct asserted itself. Leaning forward, the human swept the trembling alien into his arms, cradling him against his chest, marvelling as the aching sensation in his chest turned into something unfathomably good. So, _this_ was what affection felt like? He'd barely tasted it, but he liked it!

Zim squeaked when he was suddenly picked up like a baby animal, tensing instinctively; but once he was pressed into soft fabric, warmth made the tension melt completely. Fear and sadness suddenly gave out, and an uncertain kind of… something… replaced it. What was this? He didn't recognise the feeling, but he didn't want to bail from it. Was it some kind of weapon or curse? It didn't seem to be hurting him…

_Don't be afraid…_

Dib was feeling an uncertain kind of happiness; this seemed to be working. He hoped it was working. The little alien still gave soft tremors, but they weren't agonised like before.

The boy inhaled sharply when he felt claws sink into his shirt, but they didn't hurt him. Zim was clinging to his shirt! Dib grinned and wrapped his arms tighter around his nemesis… could they still be called enemies after all this?... confirming his happiness with the new arrangement.

Zim felt a small twinge of worry at the tightening grip, reminiscent of serpentine coils. But the lanky arms were warm and friendly, not drawing the breath from his lungs. This felt… rather nice. He didn't know what the fluttery sensation in his belly was, but it wasn't hurting him, in fact, it was getting rid of the nasty cold feeling he'd had less than a minute earlier. That must make it good, right? It couldn't be a trap to weaken his guard further. He clung to that hope. He had to. Having the courage to peek up at the warm being who was so un-threateningly squeezing him, he saw the gold eyes once again. They too were warm and friendly, not hostile. A foreign, yet vaguely recognisable sense of trust settled within him.

"I'm… not afraid." He offered a tiny but genuine smile to the being holding him, and ducked his small head to rest against the boy's chest, getting the hang of being comforted.

The human cocked his head a little at the unexpected statement; after a moment of puzzlement he assumed it to be a childish form of assertion, like a kid determined to show they could go in the water even though they were frightened. When the alien tucked his head in and became soft and pliant, Dib ginned even more and ran a hand over Zim's lithe back, deciding to improvise. Hey, he seemed to be doing okay so far! Zim gave a happy little whine at the stroking and Dib suddenly felt a subtle, yet sharp pricking at his stomach area. A little worried, he looked down and realised the Irken was attempting to burrow into him for more warmth. That was… sort of cute, when he thought about it. Smile widening even more, he brought his legs up and curled in on his little invader, resolving to give the poor little alien his happiness. In response to the action a low rumbling reverberated through his chest. What the- Zim was purring! Okay, Dib had to admit that was _very_ cute. It made something in his stomach flutter with the sweetness of it.

"Don't leave me again." Came a soft, muffled growl between purrs.

Dib blinked. "Okay." He hadn't planned to abandon Zim, but if it worried the alien, he was happy to clear it up. He didn't want to break up this newfound affection now.

Zim appeared to be deeply satisfied with that answer, for the rumbling increased in volume and his fierce grip relaxed slightly, though he leaned further into the warm golden-eyed human.

Giving his patient a final squeeze, Dib shuffled them both to his makeshift bed, lying down carefully. Zim was purring comfortably in his arms and looked ready to drop back off to a hopefully less stressful sleep, and the boy felt his eyelids droop as well. He'd stayed awake for most of a day looking out for his injured house-visitor, and now Zim looked at least mentally recovered, he thought he could cool off his nerves for a bit. The low rumbling wasn't enough to keep him awake, but instead was quite soothing. Not to mention the cuddling made him happier than he ever remembered feeling. Dib sighed out, relaxing into the trench coat-pillow, and soon found himself deep in a better sleep than he'd had in a long time.

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A/N:  
Yay for fluff! Fluff is fun, especially when it's ZADR fluff! This was my first attempt so it's probably botched. Writing fluff is harder than I thought XD

Again, feel free to point out any mistakes or general plotholes, I'll do my best to iron them out. Ta guys :3 and again, keep being awesome.

I've unofficially decided to reply to reviews in PMs instead of at the end of the chapters. It just saves you having to wait, and saves me a few minutes in the A/N.


	14. Slightly Perturbed

The massive globe of white-hot plasma known as Sol lit the dozing teen's face with soft rays of sunlight, far too early for his taste. He hissed at the mild assault to his state of peace, wanting to lift his arms to cover his face – only to find that they had prior occupations. Something warm and slightly soft was against his chest, and his lanky arms were encircling it.

What… was that? Wasn't blankets, hopefully wasn't a giant rat (thankfully didn't smell like one). The reason he wasn't jumping to his feet like a poorly trained stuntman was… hmm. He felt sort of sleepy and content. Normally he'd be up and running by now if it wasn't a frigid winter day.

Could it be to do with the thing pressed into his chest?

Still struggling to regain full awareness, the sleepy teen let his eyes fall half-mast. A soft whiffling noise was just barely present. At this point Dib would be usually reaching for something hard and heavy. Why did he feel so at ease? A glimpse of stark skin told him he wasn't wearing his coat, and no blankets could be seen. Yet it was mid-autumn. He should've been cold, but he felt anything but. What could possibly produce such intoxicating warmth?

Kicking his legs out in a stretch, Dib rolled over; this action elicited a soft groan from the slightly-plush thing on his chest, which in turn had the half-mast eyes snapping wide and the teen reaching for his glasses before he remembered he'd left them on. He looked down.

Eh? What was Zim doing on his chest?

Dib blinked several times, nonplussed and feeling still very muddled. Was the little green alien trying to crush him in his sleep? If so he was doing a poor job at best, never mind that it was almost physically impossible for the tiny thing to crush him without some kind of aiding piece of furniture.

Looking down at the Irken's face stuffed that theory into a hole and boarded said hole up. He looked unnaturally calm and relaxed, possibly happy or at least content? Wait – Zim _enjoyed_ sleeping against Dib? Weren't they en-… oh.

Memories of last night were creeping warily back into his sleep-drugged brain, overriding his confusion and kicking it out on its rear. He remembered; Zim had had a nightmare, they had cuddled. Dear lord, they had _cuddled._

In a slightly more normal state of mind than a few hours ago, the boy felt a light heat assail his cheeks. Ugh, stupid hormones. They must be what were causing him to feel… kind of pleased. The alien's face looked so calm in sleep – his normally rigid features had softened, looking almost innocent, which made an inexplicable, slightly sick feeling flicker up within. Dib almost wanted to say he looked sweet. Almost. Hell, there was no one to hide it from, was there? He certainly thought this face looked better on Zim than the haunted mask the alien had worn waking from his troubled sleep; that raw, tortured demeanour had sent chills right down through Dib's spine.

If cuddling made that contagious fear go away, Dib was more than willing to put up with it; not to mention the Irken's warmth was more effective than a hot water bottle. Besides, he felt too lazy to push Zim off him.

Nevertheless, the teen sighed and shifted a little – then winced when sharp needles were released from his tailbone. Man, his butt was killing. He shuffled awkwardly backward and propped himself up more on the makeshift trench coat-cum-pillow.

The sleeping bundle shuddered and yawned a bit, showing those unnatural pink zipper-teeth which had always looked a little frightening to Dib (to say the least), and unfurling his lekku in the process. The insectile feelers stood straight atop Zim's head for a few seconds and shuddered, and the human's eyes were inadvertently drawn to them.

Loathe to admit it, Dib had always had, well, a little soft spot for those glossy appendages; the way they jumped and twitched at the slightest change in their owner's surroundings had drawn his eye on more than one occasion. Oddly enough, he'd found little information on them during his hacking sprees, but he could determine that, in a nutshell, they were sensitive. He wondered _how_ sensitive…

He flinched when the alien stirred again, feeling caught out and a little guilty; but Zim only hummed and curled up a little, a soft rumbling heard by the teenager. Dib couldn't help but grin at the sound; it was so funny to hear the nefarious alien conqueror purring like a meek little kit. It seemed to make light of all that had happened over the past week, and radiated an odd sense of peace, which infected Dib. Zim's feelers gave small quivers, which made him smile more. Would it hurt to touch them? Not roughly, only a light touch? Zim'd barely feel it, or so he thought.

The touch was more of a stroke, but no sooner had he put pressure on the antenna than a loud, explosive purr came from the Irken. Dib reeled, saved himself from toppling; and stared, blinking rapidly. How did that even _work?_ How could such a tiny creature make a noise like _that_?

And the vibrations, dear lord; he bit his lip. Thoughts of stopping were foremost in his mind, but his hand kept stroking the antenna. It gave happy little tics that made Dib feel strange, and the mild squirming from Zim made him feel stranger. Six sharp little talons kneading into his shirt shrieked _stop and be murdered_, and so did the little mewls now being produced by the alien.

Dib, however, was aware that he'd gone much too far, Much much too far. He forced down the blush and forced his hand to stop, which it did reluctantly.

The mewls died off with a short chirp of displeasure, and the purring subsided slightly. But it was still rather potent, and was getting to him. Okay. _Okay._ Perhaps now was a good time to get Zim off him. Maybe even wake the alien – although he seemed to be enjoying his rest. Hmm, what to do? Dib pondered for a few seconds, before coming to the conclusion that he would get out from under the Irken (his legs were cramped and his butt was _still_ killing), get some food out of his bag (he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten) and then decide what to do about Zim. Keeping in mind that he was technically in his (possibly former) rival's base, or at least where he had made his home; so Zim was technically his host. Even if the host was currently unconscious and injured, must be polite to the host rather than sitting here deciding what to do with him…

Wow. It really _had _been a rough night if his train of thought was this skewed.

It then occurred to him that he hadn't done any of this yet, so he proceeded to put the first step of his makeshift plan into action. Only he didn't get past hoisting the alien up. The claws were stuck in his shirt.

Dib bit his lip. Right. He could handle this; a little jiggle should do it.

It didn't.

He tried harder. He got them stuck in further.

It was rather impressive that Zim didn't wake up.

Fine. Okay, it was still good. He'd simply have to pry the little claws out, one by one. Easy! Tentatively, Dib took a grasp of the first claw in his thumb and forefinger, and pulled. It came out cleanly. Success! Now the second one. God, the purring was distracting him. In more ways than one. _Stop it, nasty hormones! I don't need your intervention right now! _He eased the second claw out, and the purring stopped.

Zim whined.

Dib blinked confusedly at the alien for a heartbeat, checking he was fine. _It was just a whine. He's probably starting to wake up. _He nodded, moving his dextrous fingers onto the third stuck claw.

Zim wailed.

"_The f-!" _Dib sat bolt upright, thoughts scattered and terrified. Zim grit his teeth, talons clenching and digging into the skin, hard. Dib stifled a yelp and tried to move backward, but the assailed assailant went with him.

The alien freaked out at the sudden movement, shrieking and digging his claws in further. _Aghh! Stoppit!_

"Zim!" The frightened human stopped himself shaking Zim's shoulder, remembering last time. "ZIM! He choked down a yelp of his own; Irken claws were painful.

The alien was twisting odd sounds together. He seemed to be saying a word, one Dib couldn't wrap his brain around among all the other thought processes that were clashing in his head. He heard it clearly once and something unusual struck through; it somehow reminded him obscurely of one of those old legends he'd loved as a kid. It kindled a spark of connection within him, but it was instantly whisked away as Dib succeeded in pulling the traumatised Irken off him; and watching as said Irken sprawled on the floor.

The green creature lay still for a long, long, stretching heartbeat, seeming so long that Dib's fear increased. The next moment huge magenta orbs flew open and a very startled alien sat up, facing the pale yellow daylight and the tawny-eyed boy with wide-eyed confusion in the eyes of both.

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A/N: Ohh man. I wrote antenna fluff XD  
It had to happen sometime...

I was going to have a different ending, but I wrote in this ending in celebration. Celebration that I finally know where I'm going with this! *o* Save that I still don't know what the ending is.

Enjoy, for the awkward fluff is coming to an end! (For now at least)

I'm glad I waited until this morning to edit and upload this time.

Oh yeah. I think I can safely say that this story is now pretty much a ZADR XD

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I said I was going to answer reviews by PM didn't I? *falls to knees* I'm so sorry!


	15. Slightly More Perturbed

A/N: Well now, look at that. I bet you all thought this story was dead, didn't you? X) I never gave up on it, though I've contemplated it several times as there's a lot I'm not happy with. I don't see any point in letting it die though. All your reviews have given me so much inspiration and drive to keep going, so I want to thank you all for helping my poor, sick little story stumble along. :')

Without further ado, I give you Chapter 14. :dramatic flourish:

I hope it's enjoyable :3

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There were far better ways to wake up than this.

Even the Irken, who didn't have many pleasant memories of waking up himself, had to admit that.

He lay numbly on the hard floor, blood and spent fear hormones swirling in his head.

It took him a few seconds to recall the muscle sequence for thinking.

It took him half a second longer to realise that the act of thinking generally wasn't perceived to have a muscle sequence.

Now testing his _other _muscles, the alien jolted himself painfully upright, hoping to shake off what seemed to be a temporary stupor. This didn't go down so well after all, as a rush of sensations almost instantly crowded in to replace the numbness, his battered PAK unable to process them all at once. He growled softly, world spinning, 'spooch churning uncomfortably. Upon opening his eyes, which he found to be a bit of a struggle as they seemed to have gummed over, the light hit them like a Viral Tank's bullet and became a mess of sickly colours. Was this like what the humans called being 'hanged-above'? Who cared. It was something like that, anyway…

He gave himself a mental check-over quickly, noting that there was dull pain in his right side (felt like he'd been thrown onto a floor, for some reason), his senses seemed to be somehow misted; fogged over – but his antennae perked at attention, and were practically buzzing with a million high-frequency outputs from whatever the Irk might be his surroundings. He grunted and reached up instinctively with one clawed hand to rub the feeling away, and wound up wobbling dangerously from the loss of support. In addition to the pain, there was something yet more disturbing. A kind of burnt-off, exhausted, yet wary sort of feeling. Like he'd recently been attacked? Threatened? A sharp scent somewhere in close proximity was making his belly turn somersaults, and the strain on his lekku intensify. Whining lightly, he laid his antennae flat and compensated by flicking his tongue out – it too was met with an acrid flavour. It was about this time that his logic center, initially a little sluggish to catch up, decided that perhaps Zim should figure out what the source might be.

Colours separated and his surroundings merged into focus with an unpleasant crash.

The appearance of the human boy happened a little too suddenly for Zim, and logic thrust aside, his back arched instinctively in alarm, lips pulling back to display the rather nasty set of teeth at the creature's disposal. This was not an action he ever remembered performing or having learned, but such cryptic thoughts were the last on his mind. At the same time he tried to back himself onto his haunches, only to be greeted by a spike of resistance – or rather, explosive pain all over his skin that all but evoked a scream from the Irken. He grunted instead and collapsed onto the ground ungracefully, receiving another good dose of pain for the movement.

"Ughhh…" He shivered mildly, wondering what could possibly have driven his body to betray him so. Realising his tongue was protruding and about to be sliced in two by his teeth, he quickly withdrew it, running it around his mouth which was almost equally dry.

A soft inhalation had his attention. Oh of course, the human. He growled and pushed into the ground, lifting his head to focus on the other being in the room. With some relief, he realised he was now able to remember who the chemical scent belonged to. Huh. The Dib… he vaguely remembered… oh yes. Was Zim in danger? No, he thought not. Zim had rescued the little stink-weevil, hadn't he? He was sure he had, he had beaten back the horrible clutches of poisoned Earth water and rescued the Dib! It had gone something like that…

With a heroic bit of effort and not a little discomfort, Zim made the movement from lying prone on the floor to sitting up. Dib watched, but was silent, seemingly poised at the brink of a ledge, judging from his expression. Zim's train of thought was headed in a similar direction. Where had the hurt come from? Was this what a over-hangerer felt like, and what the heck was that cursed word, anyway? Surely the human would have answers for him.

"Human, your stink of terrified feelings is sickening Zim to his very core." Making a repulsed face, Zim stated what was truly foremost on his mind. It had come out of nowhere.

Dib started at this. He appeared to be somehow torn, and addressed this by replying with an indecipherable muddle of half-words, none of which served to communicated either side of whatever feelings he might've been having. Soon, however, he found his tongue. "Are you feeling well?"

Zim blinked, at both the question and the thunderstruck expression of the human. It seemed to all too closely tied in with the traces of that unidentifiable feeling he'd noticed before in himself, that hiding-in-the-dark-after-an-attack feeling. Unable to put a claw on it, though, he tried to put it out of his mind for now and found himself happy to focus on a different set of troubles than his own (what he refused to call) weaknesses.

He grunted. "Zim is fine. Only small aches." Finding his voice to rattle oddly, he swallowed, making a face at the stale taste.

Dib only narrowed his eyes at this.

"Then what was all that screaming, and," he made scratching gestures in the air, "clawing me?"

Most confused, Zim frowned back at the teen. Surely he'd have noticed if he was putting harm on the human. He was fond of keeping track of his battles and scuffles. Though if he'd done what Dib recounted, it might explain all that spent energy in his system. He crossed his sore arms with a grimace.

"I remember no such thing, human."

"You were asleep, so that makes sense. But you must have been feeling something, surely?"

Zim didn't move, and a quick search in his short term memory revealed nothing. The last thing he could remember was the sight of rushing water, and perhaps a dark period and a jumble of feelings that he couldn't quite place. He shook his head slowly. "How does Zim know it is not your fragile human mind imagining things?"

Dib shuffled a little closer, and Zim stiffened, taken by surprise as the boy lifted his shirt a little. "Is that proof enough for you?" He said flatly.

The alien stared at the thin grooves etched into Dib's skin. They were crisscrossed and messy, blurred with drying blood, but as Zim put a claw forward to examine more closely, he could see a definite match between the marks and his own talons. With a small bemused noise, he then brought his own hand up to his face to stare detachedly at. Without really thinking he flexed his claws as though to make sure they were his own, before scenting them closely and taking a whiff of blood. Huh.

Returning his gaze to the human, who was now staring at him with a face almost as disconcerted as the one he'd woken up to, he waved a hand in front of the boy's face. "Eh…" He was unsure what to make of any of this.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry for the shortness of this chapter D: I was keen to get something up after slacking off for the past months, plus there's another perspective change after this, so I hope this does alright for now. I have several more chapters in progress, so I'm hoping to update a little more frequently than I have been. With any luck I'll have chapter fifteen done tomorrow, but it's not certain. Also, some of the confusion in this chapter should make sense a little later on. Thanks again for the support with this story ^^


	16. Untalkative

A/N: Long chapter, finally :D It's another filler, but... y'know. I do hope to pick up the plot shortly, and hopefully it will start to in the next chapter.

This one's definitely rated T, for mention of eating dead bodies. ^^

* * *

Dib stared at the hand waved in front of him, still at a loss to understand the majority of Zim's actions nowadays, before turning his attention to more important matters. "I guess we'd better check your injuries, since you kicked up such a fuss last night and this morning." He muttered. Cautiously reaching to take the hand and check the burns on it, Dib pulled up quickly as he noticed a slight hint of teeth behind a curled-back lip. Zim was wide awake now, and certainly not feeling cuddly. Dib realised he'd have to tread carefully.

Now was the time to be a polite houseguest. With the Irken sending him a look of puzzled, slightly angry confusion, Dib supposed Zim would at least want an explanation as to how he'd received these burns in the first place. Even if it was all the insufferable alien's own fault.

"You do remember how you got these?"

The alien twitched, still suspiciously eyeing Dib's hand, as he tried to remember again.

"Zim got them while rescuing the Dib… yes, these are glorious scars of triumph!" Though his voice flitted off into an uncertain pitch as he finished, he covered this with a trademark Zim-puffing-out-of-the-chest. Then doubled over with a groan.

Dib's eyes grew wide. "…Rescuing me? That was what you were doing in my house?"

Zim looked back up at him and nodded. "Yes, of course! How could you not tell when you were being rescued?"

Scrabbling around for his composure, Dib stared back at him, trying with all his might to hold back an ironic chuckle. However, a smile showed through. "Zim, I came down the stairs to find you face down in the living room, immersed in water." His smile faded as he recalled the moment. "I don't think I've ever seen a rescue attempt quite like that. I had to carry you all the way across town and fix you up… well, try, anyway." Clearly the burn cream hadn't quite been enough in the long run, though it had allowed Zim to at least sleep peacefully for some time.

It was the Irken's turn to baulk, optic orbs growing large. "You resc-… well, you still don't have scars of glory to show for your success!"

Dib raised an eyebrow at the alien, wondering he felt a slight, curious tug of nostalgia at the cocky retort. He shook his head, smile creeping back. "I'm glad I don't." He shuddered at the thought of all those blisters, before a thought came to him. "Though, I did quite enjoy being bed-ridden for weeks on end with my legs completely immobile, after that fire in your base." A sickening image entered his mind, and he swallowed painfully at the memory of a small green body lying broken and bloodied at he bottom of the elevator. How could Zim even speak of 'scars of triumph' after that? Which brought him to a bigger question…

The Irken of course sensed the shift in his mood, but tried to overstep it, fearful himself of slipping back into sorrowful thoughts. He finally had something to focus on that wasn't his own failures, and by Irk, he was going to hang on to it, constrict it and nail it to the ground if he had to. He wasn't about to let Dib start moping! The human took a small breath, and Zim tensed, sensing a question was about to be asked. His 'spooch grew strangely uneasy at the thought. Zim didn't want to answer questions… he just felt they had to be avoided, like water or children or meat, or great oscillating blades. His gut screamed at him that big questions would bring cruel pain along with them.

"Well," he interrupted quickly, "I suppose this makes us even, since we've both rescued each other." He hummed absently and tapped the ground with a forefinger, feeling he'd scored a winning hit when the boy's mood seemed to lift a little and he murmured agreement.

Silence followed, before Dib caught up with his original plan. "So, did you want your injuries looked at, or not?" He asked as lightly as possible, though he was loathe to imagine having to deal with a pain-wracked, screeching Zim the rest of the day.

"I suppose~" Grumbling, Zim held out his hand again, watching the human carefully, being sure he would have to monitor the extent to which Dib was going to 'examine' him.

Dib reached for the hand, suddenly struck with a nasty thought as to what exactly he was going to have to do. He'd redressed Zim a few hours after the burns had been treated the night before, in some of his own clothes as the others were still damp (plus there was the sad plight of the jeans, of course), and so far the alien hadn't appeared to notice the change in attire. But if he was going to have to… well, he certainly didn't want to try while the alien was awake!... Dib wasn't sure he could be so handy with a towel if Zim planned to prove he was a more difficult patient than he already had.

He briskly decided he'd wait until that demon popped up to figure out what to do about it.

Dib was glad he'd chosen more merciful clothing than Zim's last attire of scratchy wool. It was a silent agreement that Zim should worry his burnt skin as little as possible, and so the task of peeling back the sleeves of the light jacket fell to Dib. The Irken hissed in pain and jerked numerous times, which was expected, but nevertheless unpleasant. It was a good few minutes before they'd both calmed down enough to take a good look at the situation. The burns looked less aggressive than they had the previous night, but they were still decently painful.

"Maybe I should've applied bandages…" Dib muttered. No, he definitely should have applied bandages. But assuring himself this was a case of 'better late than never', Dib didn't hesitate to find the first aid kit (kept close at hand), and rifle through it until bandages were uncovered. Holding up the long strips to his self-proclaimed patient, Dib than announced he was going to put them on Zim's arms.

The alien's red eyes slitted at that, and he showed no reluctance in explaining to Dib that he did not need to be 'examined' to such an extent, and could do such a job quite nicely himself. Old habits die hard, and fearing the capacity of sadistic, alien-obsessed stalkers to simply make off with a piece of your arm was one for Zim, regardless of the context it happened to be in.

The teen flinched as his charge snapped back at him, whisking the bandages out of his hands to very, very slowly and carefully begin winding them around one arm. Dib stared, and stared some more, without comment. After several more minutes of stifled yelps and growled Irken words which sounded suspiciously like swearing, Zim had done quite a nice job of wrapping himself up in a wonderfully thick, messy, web-like tangle. He had somehow tied his own arms together.

Dib put a hand over his mouth and snorted, without meaning to, to which the Irken glared balefully. Trying to sound somewhat reasonable, Dib finally broke his comment-less vigil. "Zim… just a casual question; do you even know how to bandage yourself?" The Irken 'hmph'ed and nodded vigorously, before remembering his neck was in bad shape. Of course he did! How else would he have dealt with the numerous injuries he'd picked up over the years without the full support of his PAK?

"What I meant to say," Dib elaborated slowly, "is do you know how to bandage yourself properly?"

Zim 'hmph'ed again, but in a more petty sort of way. Yet another pause followed. He continured to glare at Dib, who had to wonder for just how long they'd be forced into this. The alien's stubbornness levels seemed to be quite healthy on this fine autumn morning. It was perhaps a hopeful sign he was improving, albeit predictably annoying. An eternity passed between them, and Dib was just contemplating from which angle he could best grab the Irken to remove the bandages by force (gently as possible, though), when he saw the Irken's face very slowly turn to the side, and his antennae lower resignedly. "Please untie me." He growled through clenched teeth. Apparently his will wasn't quite limitless after all.

After a lengthy, not to mention tedious 30 minutes of struggles, slander and general discord, Zim's limbs were finally satisfactorily bandaged, and Dib in particular felt he had earned a decent break. He crawled backward from the alien, still panting a little from exertion and wincing at a fine accumulation of fresh scratches. The Irken had become silent, and was sitting faced away from Dib, apparently pensive and engaged in his thoughts (and possibly also sulking over the treatment his poor limbs had just received). The boy slumped back onto a dust-filled cushion with a sigh, wondering dully if he should try to voice his earlier question. While he was sure Zim wouldn't enjoy explaining himself, he felt it was best if they both came to terms with what had happened over the past three years. Better sooner than later. While it seemed impossible that things could ever return to normal between them given recent occurrences (hell, were there many enemies that rescued and uh… nursed… each other on a regular basis?), perhaps an understanding of what exactly had been going on with Zim might restore a little spark of normalcy to their lives.

Looking at the alien, however, Dib didn't think he could expect to get much out of Zim now. Besides, the past hours, not to mention the newest disagreement, had drained a lot of his asking-questions energy. No, they could rest now, there was time for talking later.

Suddenly cringing as a pain shot through his belly, Dib groaned, remembering now his earlier plan to get something to eat, lest his stomach turn on him violently. Now seemed like as good a time as any, and rolling onto his side, he made the laborious crawl over to his backpack, secured in a small niche in the wall close to where they'd been sleeping.

Dib dug into his bag, with some triumph, freeing his prize from the mass of nameless other essentials. His stomach came to attention instantly, and he wasted no time vigorously unwrapping the cold pizza slice (he could swear he heard a stifled gasp off to his right as the wrapping came free) and without so much as a sniff, stuffed it gleefully into his mouth with a pleased noise. Yup… congealed pizza was exactly what he needed right now. He was left feeling at least mildly disappointed when his hands were all too quickly emptied.

Licking his lips of any traces, he heard another stifled sound from the alien. Perhaps he should offer Zim something? It had been rather impolite of him to eat without offering in the first place.

So, "Uhh… pizza, Zim?" He knew there was another slice in there, and he was quick to retrieve it, peeling a little of the gladwrap away and holding it out to the alien with a nervous kind of grin. Zim must've been hungry after all the trauma he'd been through, and besides, there couldn't be much food for the Irken around here anyway. But upon catching sight of Dib's gift, he seemed to visibly pale, shuffling backward and making a soft retching noise, antennae flattening themselves in defense. "T-take it away…"

So Zim didn't appreciate pizza. Dib made a half-heartedly apologetic face (though he wasn't entirely sure whether he expected it to have some effect on the Irken) and withdrew the offering, the cheese-and-sauce aroma catching in his nose and exciting his appetite again, but he remembered his manners this time. Perhaps the alien might eat something else. Digging around in the bag some more, Dib now produced a sandwich. The alien had turned away, but it was apparent from the excited, darting movements of his lekku that his posture betrayed his interest in the food.  
The human smiled encouragingly, waving the item before him. "Come on, then."  
Zim turned and glared at him mildly for that, before cautiously moving in, antennae stretched forward, to take the gift, his tattered pride evidently unable to resist the offer. Rather than eating it right then and there, as any normal starving person (or Dib, at least) would, he proceeded to scrutinise it closely, feelers twitching and skimming over the surface, reminding Dib of an inquisitive ant.  
"Heh, it's okay. There's no meat on it." He'd already checked.  
Zim glanced back up at him again, and Dib wondered for a brief second whether he might decide to insert his teeth into him instead. So he was understandably relieved when the prying red eyes returned to the sandwich in his hands, and the alien proceeded to unwrap it.

What happened next made Dib stare. The alien raised his feelers away from the prize before taking a small bite. Not a nervous little nibble, but rather a slow, careful, deliberate bite, making sure no crumbs went astray. Had Zim had some kind of intensive practice at this? Dib figured it was strange to him because he'd rarely ever seen the Irken eat anything (he seemed to prefer sniffing, gagging and prodding at given food repeatedly, sometimes for full half hours at a time), but still… he couldn't believe any creature as hungry as Zim must be could eat in such a deliberate manner. No one was that much of a neat freak. As the alien swiped away the last crumbs with his tongue, Dib felt an uncomfortable movement in his own stomach, and groaned. He was hungry again.

The boy cringed mildly in embarrassment when the alien looked over, having picked up on his plight with not a little amusement. He actually grinned a bit, making Dib want to scowl at the contemptuous little thing. Instead he tried shifting the attention away from himself.  
"It's… interesting how you can eat like that, considering you must be hungry." He stated, a slight tilt to his head. Zim's antenna twitched, seeming to take it as a compliment.  
"Indeed, human. Zim has learned to adapt to the small amount of edible matter in this desolate hole."  
Dib couldn't conceal his interest now. "What do you mean?" He then winced again as his gut gave a loud protest.  
Again, Zim took note of this with an upward twitch of the mouth. "If Zim eats slowly, his belly does not grumble so loudly and frequently. Zim is able to go longer without eating again."

"Oh." Dib studied a small scrap of carpet with interest. It sounded like something a parent might say to their kid, which made it all the more annoying when it came from Zim. Still, the logic seemed fair.  
"Then… what do you normally eat?"

Zim hummed as he thought about this. "I used to raid vending machines…" Probably the most bearable kind of food he'd encountered on the planet came from the large, puke-coloured, vaguely nostalgic boxes. "And when they ran out, eh… whatever was available had to do. Occasionally there were dead possums in the roof…"

Dib pulled a face, disgusted at the both the though of eating a dead possum and the idea that Zim would do such a thing. "Ugh. How could you even eat a possum? It'd be basically meat and water."

"The meat isn't processed and chemical-filled like the dookie humans consume. So it is edible enough. And as for the water, there is usually none left. All the weird dust up there seems to preserve the body so it's a lot like one of your freeze-dried snacks before you heat it up." He ran a slick red tongue over his lips, more to upset the boy than any real delight over the subject.

Dib dearly wished he hadn't asked that particular question.


	17. Belligerent Books are Bad News

A companionable quiet hung over the gloomy building's two occupants. Now both much calmer and with full bellies, Zim and Dib had been content to simply lean back against the wall of a convenient nook Dib had found during a small expedition of his own, fairly clean (by the library's standards) and with a couple of chairs and a desk sitting around, tarnished with age and forgotten by time, along with the last people to make use of them. They'd dragged some cushions in, and Dib, having fussed for a brief time over the sores he'd received from the talons of his roommate, was still tired enough to do little else than procrastinate.

The teen turned his head a little to look at Zim, who was comfortable enough to have balled up against the wall quite close to him, making use of what appeared to be the remains of a bean bag. His antennae rested easily above his head, every now and then rising and falling a little as if checking all was still quiet. His head drooped into his folded arms, and a sliver of ruby showed under his lids, making it clear he was still awake and not open to any kind of assault, but in all other aspects he looked peaceful. The alien was evidently feeling better, or at least much more composed, perhaps even more so than when Dib had first found him on the day of the storm. Despite his no-touching attitude, he seemed relaxed enough to stay about a metre or two from the human. He didn't appear to want to get up and scream his head off, at least, and Dib's ears accepted this happily.

Perhaps it wasn't a bad time to ask a few answers of the Irken. They were both settled, having eaten, and although under his clothes Zim was wrapped up like a corpse, it was no reason for him to be unable to give Dib at least a short recount of the events after the fire. He was holding back information that surely Dib himself was allowed to know. And for what good?

He was about to say something along the lines of these thoughts when Zim's eyes snapped open, antennae pausing in their motion for long enough to stand quivering at half mast for several seconds, before the alien returned, within a moment, to the position he'd been in all along. Weird. It was almost like he was expecting the question.

Feeling a very slight, but vaguely peculiar throb emerge on the side of his head, as one would get from suddenly standing up or being subject to a quick change in temperature, Dib reached his hand up to it in annoyance but without much thought, still idly pondering the alien's action.

He didn't get a moment more to do so before Zim was no longer sitting beside him.

Blinking in astonishment, Dib took a double take and reassured himself that the supposedly handicapped alien hadn't dematerialised though some spectral outside force, but rather had hobbled very quickly in a short space of time. He was standing stiffly in the entrance to the desk-and-chair nook, on tenterhooks, as though he were listening intently to said spectral outside force. That, or a possum carking it somewhere in the roof. (Ugh! Surely Dib's sandwiches were good enough for him?) He remained in the position at length, until Dib began to feel that there was little good in staying silent and hoping for an explanation to be given of its own accord. Oh, and there was the throbbing headache again. Of course, it was likely just his body needing water, however Dib's mystery-seeking mind forced him to question.

He'd rarely seen Zim's antennae behave quite so… eerily. They looked like twigs in winter – slick, black twigs, quivering under the cold breath of impending frost. Or something poetic like that. He'd seen them do some pretty bizarre things, granted, but this didn't seem to fall under the usual category. And he certainly didn't feel tempted to touch them now. The Irken looked as though he might easily remove the fingers and possibly the frontal lobes of any unwary soul who tried. Searching out some means to do something about this, Dib moved quickly to the entrance to peer around the one-man musical-statue game, studying the alien's face, following his line of gaze (which was directed nowhere in particular and so wasn't much help), but as yet unable to find any prompt for further Dib-like action. It was obvious he was going to have to rouse the alien from the trance he'd fallen into and…

"Aargh!"

Dib threw up an arm to his head as a stronger pain hit it without warning, only to be hit from the front by Zim's antennae as they flicked backward; the owner startled by the cry. The Irken twisted around with a glare and a snarl, only to pull back at the sight of a nonthreatening, pesky human. He was clearly agitated. The human met his glare equally hotly, for although the sensation had subsided, it was still a source of irritation. Rather abruptly, he asked:

"What? Can you hear something?"

The Irken widened one eye at him, then replied, "Yes," before hobbling slowly and rather moodily back to his original position, feelers twitching and an uncomfortable hunch to his shoulders. His brow furrowed and he reached a hand up to touch it lightly, his tone becoming rough and impatient toward his interrogator. "Zim hears a lot of things, as you could probably imagine." He paused, thinking of a way to reaffirm this. "Because I have hearing… thingies." He gestured toward his antennae before looking conclusively at Dib.

In any other situation Dib might have teased the alien's attempt at sarcasm, but now he once again returned the glare, wondering why he suddenly deserved such a tone of voice – and a somewhat disturbingly Zim-like attitude. He also took stock of the hand placed over Zim's head.

"You have a headache as well, don't you?"

The Irken went to widen his eye, realised it had reached its limit and substituted with the other, quirking his head to the side, and searched for an escape route before figuring the question wasn't doing much harm – yet. "What if I do…?"

"Well, my head hurts too… though, if it has anything to do with whatever you've been listening to, I suspect it's much worse for you." In truth, Dib was simply probing. If he could find even a small opening in Zim's guard, some kind of loophole, he might yet get answers out of the Irken. Of course, that was provided the touchy alien didn't decide to end their unspoken truce on a rapid and ungraceful note should he prod the wrong way.

Zim gave him a very odd look. A look that suggested perhaps he was a rabbit in the headlights of a truck, but the headlights had just turned into a pair of stoats and offered him a bag of mushrooms.

"I… well… mind your own business, human!" He turned over, presenting his back to Dib.

Said human snorted. "You'll talk to me before long, anyway. I know from experience how hard a time you have keeping your mouth shut."

No response.

And while Dib watched the back of the Irken with what he thought was a fairly matched stubbornness, Zim still did not speak or turn around, but rather shuddered and put his arms down over his antennae.

Ugh. Well, so be it. He'd find something else to occupy him that wasn't his roommate's misery. In time, perhaps he'd come around – 'in time' seemed to have become a regular mantra for him. What a shame he hadn't thought to pack himself any pigeon-bile extraction homework tasks when he'd hurriedly thrown belongings into his dampened bag.

It occurred to Dib that he was sitting in a library. A very old one, at that. It was a fact old as history that most libraries tended to contain books. And while the hulking wooden shelves in this one brought back chilling childhood memories, and the hefty books living on them spoke in whispers of dimly-remembered scars and bruises, a bit of a risky book fix seemed like a promising way to alleviate boredom-induced worry - and headaches. Yes, better a headache from a falling book than from contagious alien angst.

"I'm going to check out the books here, Zim." Dib paused, feeling an awful, niggling sense of déjà vu when the only response was an indecipherable twitch from one twig-like appendage. Having by now picked up that a sense of optimism was necessary if one was to stay sane in this kind of environment, the boy gladly took it for a gesture of assent.

The soft skittering movements of many tiny beings punctuated the muffled, irregular rhythm of Dib's feet, each one causing him to pause uncertainly between each stonily-watching guardian of human speculation. Each time, he had to reassure himself that the creature surely didn't sport frightening metallic legs and a thieving lust for organs. If worse came to worst, such an apparition was lying dormant close by and would likely rise to defend his territory. Dib found his thoughts straying wryly to possums, and quickly shunted his attention over to the dusty books.

He wandered around for a little longer than previously anticipated, pulling a few tomes from the shelves (in some cases, having to yank them out forcefully and then watching the bookcase in terror to see if it would fall on his head) and flipping through them, though he found an awful lot in them that wasn't text and either smelt of animal waste or was black and had a copious number of legs. He passed on quickly, all too eager to leave these alone.

At some later point in time he actually came upon one of the creatures that had been gracing his ears with its scratching and scuffling, though this one had been resting behind a fiction book he'd just removed – when startled, it jumped, showing its teeth to him, and jumped a little too close to the intruder in a bid for escape. Dib recoiled, having had a few more unpleasant experiences with rats than some, and jolted the bookcase. It wobbled, but held its position. Unfortunately the book resting on the edge of a higher shelf didn't. It expressed its appreciation by dealing the disrespectful youth a good blow to the head.

"Ahh~! Goddamn-" Dib staggered and doubled over unsteadily, holding his now exquisitely sore cranium and glaring at the offending book through smarting eyes. The tome sat innocently at his feet, its cover open and pages face-down and skewed.

"It's your own fault, you know…" Dib muttered absently to it as he picked it up, doing a cursory job of straightening some of the pages. The book was mockingly silent, as books generally do not respond to scorn. The boy shook his head, straightening out a final page, which then succeeded in catching his eye. He read a few sentences, realising the story seemed vaguely familiar to him. Turning it over to study the title, he shrugged, figuring a good monster-based book would tide him over. He might start seeing unspeakable nightmares stalking the corridors later tonight, but it was still kind of cool to find a book that he remembered from his childhood. Tucking the sturdy weight under his arm, he made his way through the labyrinth of knowledge to show Zim his find.

* * *

A/N: Here's an update for all you patient readers. The plot, well... sorta picks up here, just very subtly. Tried not to rush into it too quickly, but feel free to give feedback and/or advice - I don't intend to drag it on long enough as to be boring.

I apologise for the still-slow updates. My muse is creeping back, albeit reluctantly, and as I've just had a fresh pile of essays dumped on me by school, a chunk of my writing energy will be directed toward that for a time. To the reviewer who asked if I was going to leave you with another six-month cliffhanger, I can only promise to try my hardest. Not to, I mean. ^^" I'm glad you're enjoying it, though.

Oh, and I truly do enjoy stupid chapter titles. XD


	18. Stranger Than Fiction

A deep frown had embedded itself on the Irken's face, and he reached up a hand once more to rub at his forehead. He stared down at the faded carpet, and the loose thread he'd been picking relentlessly at for at least the last four-and-a-half minutes. The ugly, frayed little head of the synthetic worm leered up at him, and to this point had not yielded to his plucking. It was reflective of his own mind, he'd decided. Zim had been puzzling quietly over the omniscient headache, shared for some reason between he and the human who had just recently withdrawn his companionship to go and feast his weak eyes on the primitive writings of his ancestors or whatever. Zim had learned to manipulate human languages - most of them - to his own advantage, but he wasn't a big stickler for layers and layers of tiny, flat, printed text. The few books in the library he'd managed to read properly held only mild fascination, if any. Sometimes it brought entertainment to read about the many preaching, hopes and dreams of humanity. Emphasis on sometimes.

_Pluck._ Hard as Zim tried, he could not pull out that small tapeworm of a memory that might lead him to some clue. It had driven itself into a hole in his mind and peered an ugly, shadowed face out at him. It contained something of interest. The sliver of a past date, a name. Perhaps. If only he could find a way to lure it out if it's corner. If it was a memory, it must be from a long time ago. His PAK had lost access to it.

The erratic frequencies were still pounding on his antennae, but he had given up on trying to cover them. Instead he'd tried listening; stretching outward a little with his antennae before retracting them again, trying to probe without experiencing a sensory shutdown by accident.

A horrendous noise tore through the ether and sent black spots careening into his vision. Swiftly, Zim turned toward the door, an enraged hiss bubbling forth, only to see that the human boy had returned.

I'm back, Zim!" Dib announced his arrival with a little too much elation, though only over having found a favourite childhood book to occupy his time. Upon being presented with a keen set of teeth - but no grin of welcome - he stopped in his tracks, looking with an affronted expression at the ruffled Irken. He was splayed in an odd recumbent position, his arms draped over a favoured cushion, legs tucked underneath him. He reminded Dib of a sphinx. An angry one.

"Geez, what?!" An ever-faithful pain in his head nudged its way into his mind. Oh.

"Look, I'm sorry you have a sore head. I do too, and it's not like I caused it, or anything!" He spread his free arm in a helpless gesture, before trudging back to the wall to sit down awkwardly, elation fading. He pulled the thick hardcover book into his lap, almost cradling it defensively as he faced away from the offensively grumpy alien.

Said alien watched Dib and the book, snarl fading, though a liquid heat stung behind his eyes to replace it, mindful of the shock his antennae had received. Zim shoved it roughly into the corner of his mind.

Dib's mood had regressed to a subdued puzzlement. He'd rightfully disclaimed responsibility for Zim's headache. But what was causing it? if it'd just been him, Dib could have passed it off as simply dehydration or something like that. How could that affect both of them simultaneously? More importantly, what could? Having an avid interest for unexplained phenomenon, the young investigator was likely to ponder this for as long as he felt the desire to do so.

Zim had reverted his attention to poking at something on the floor, his expression eerily blank. Several moments dragged on, before he asked, with little interest, "What are you reading?"

Dib looked down at the cover, having temporarily forgotten. "Well, I haven't started yet. But it's basically a book of monster stories I used to love when I was younger. Just some light entertainment."

Zim's antennae rose cautiously. "Monsters?"

"Yeah. I'll read some aloud, if you want to hear it."

The Irken showed neither interest or disinterest to this propostion. He had succeeded in pulling loose what appeared to be a thread from the carpet, and was examining it intently. Unsure how to take this, Dib began to read, in a quiet voice. The familiar text quickly absorbed his attention, frazzled thoughts becoming merely background noise as he listened absently to his own voice repeating the words.

Some time later - either several minutes or half an hour - a shadow fell over the reader. It was only a soft shadow, and fixated on the book, he at first didn't take notice of it. It gradually slipped into his conscious and lingered at the edge of it, neither committing or retreating out of notice. Silent breathing was felt over his shoulder, and Dib gave a very small, barely noticeable shudder. At least there was no purring. He continued reading, wordlessly accepting the company.

As he prepared to flip another page, a slender, taloned finger snaked out, pressing the paper so it could not turn.

"Zim doesn't recognize this word." He sounded a touch indignant, but it was overlaid with curiosity. Dib peered at the word the finger was indicating, and smiled a little. Clearly the alien wasn't familiar with mythological terms.

"It reads 'Jormungand.'" He explained.

"Your-what?"

"Jormungand." Dib repeated. "In Norse mythology there was supposedly a huge serpent that encircled the world, having to eat its own tail to avoid falling off because of its ever-increasing size." Zim muttered something about physics that the boy didn't quite catch.

'I see. And this snake-thing was called... 'your-mun-gand?'"

"Close enough." Dib nodded.

"Hmm..." The alien resumed with his pensive face, giving the impression he was troubled. The serpentine thread danced erratically in his hands, toyed with and coiled repeatedly around his fingers. Dib thought he heard a 'no' muttered.

"I... Zim... would not like to hear more of this." Zim waved his hand in an uncertain gesture at the book, and then at its reader. "Yes. Um. Cease with your reading. "

'Oh... okay." Dib looked down at the open book, wondering what Zim wasn't enjoying about it. Of course, it could just be that he didn't appreciate listening to Dib's voice. "I'll read in my head, though, if that's fine."

Zim gave a vague nod, "Do as you wish," before shuffling back to his own cushion. Story time had evidently ended for him.

The daylight crept minute by minute from the stagnant room, throwing pigmented rays across the line from the single exterior window that allowed light into the nook shared by Zim and Dib. Dib watched the deep orange wash crawling steadily back, retreating before the shadowy promise of night, before rising to move to the window. Bracing his hands on the smooth-worn windowsill, he watched the light slip behind the skyscrapers that stood like gloomy sentries beyond the long open stretch of the wheat field. Watching the sun set over the field and the city sprawling behind it was indeed an awe-inspiring sight, however, Dib was waiting for the moon. He had predicted some days before that it would be rising early tonight - and wasn't he in the perfect place to watch it? Out of the city's grip, there was still light pollution, but the sky was still considerably clearer. He'd be able to see the stark, pitted celestial disc reflect the dying light of his planet's star. Orange moons were always cool.

As the sun's powerful influence degraded to a mere glow on the horizon, Dib moved around to the far side of the building, carefully, steering clear of bookfalls and rats. He reached a window with a decent view with little light to spare - the meager illumination that had given its subjects a slightly unusual tinge - to see the very, very slight promise of new light emerging over the hill. Soft natural light, not the hard, scathing rays of a nearby star, or even the dirty, yet somehow beautiful reflection off smog in the sky.

It was... now that he was able to see it... not the moonlight he had come expecting to see.

Moonlight could be a soft illumination or a blazing, blinding white depending on where and how you looked at it. This was... not quite either. It was sickly, strange, and - Dib was stuck for how else to describe it - foreign. Not foreign as in the glitter of distant galaxies or even the flamboyant, spectral colours of nebulas, spied frequently through his father's telescope. In truth, it was just barely different from usual. Perhaps there was some kind of satellite interfering with the atmosphere and its light filter. Or perhaps his brain had succumbed to fatigue. In any case, it didn't seem to affect his sight of the moon so much as... well, it just made him feel strange. He couldn't quite place how the moonlight was off, but it was. Dropping his eyes to the horizon, Dib widened them, staring. What was that? He'd never known auroras to come this far south, so...

The skywatcher shivered, a fearful chill overhanging what was left of his desire to watch the night. The night leered and sneered. It had shut itself away from Dib and put up a sombre poster to deter him. He felt unwelcome here - tiredness crept into him, and the hand gripping the cold, firm wood of the sill slipped. He yawned, vision blurring, and the small pang of a headache threatening. There was nothing to do but return to bed. Rather, what he was now calling 'bed'. It was all in an attempt to ward off the homesickness that had been quietly building up, and had now, finally, reached the backs of his eyes.

Where the meager light from outside did not reach, a shape tossed fitfully before rising and clumsily detaching itself from the shadows. Eyes, reflecting two blood-coloured moons, fixed on a prone shape tucked away in the crook of an overturned chair. The book was turned over, claws tracing over the sharp indentations on the cover, before their owner retreated gingerly back to his corner, the book in hand. He opened it swiftly, flicking through the pages faster than most humans would do. Dim spotlights roamed the black script, flitting past some words and at times pausing in confusion over a new term his AI refused to translate.

As the baleful moon slunk ever farther across a frozen autumn sky, Zim's finger scratched listlessly across another bleak yellowed page - and now came to a definite halt, tapping slowly and erratically. From the silence rose a ponderous murmur. Zim read the singular word over and over, slower to put it into context than those more familiar with fictional writing might. He flipped to the contents page. Found the word repeated there. Tried to process it again, miniature cables humming, dials ticking over, and finally, a link was suggested. The reader spoke the alien term out slowly to himself, sliding his slender tongue into the word it was not made to pronounce. At last, with a drawn-out, grinding shriek of abused technology, his faulty PAK grudgingly registered a match.

Zim drew back from the book, blinking in the fitful light as his mind and 'spooch raced a marathon. A wry serpent of a thought had finally reared its head, as his PAK sputtered and its synapses slowed to a normal pace. Grunting with bewilderment over the realization, he now had an educated idea of the what. Sort of. All he needed was the why.

Bracing his hands firmly on the same windowsill an innocent, unsuspecting human had earlier that same night, the Irken thrust his head out to stare with bitten-back nostalgia at the eerie night. His lekku were killing him, and he laid them flat, trying to stop them from flicking as frantically as they had begun to.

* * *

A/N: Annnd I'm back with another (hopefully not) corny filler to you. Albeit a more nutritious filler that does try to slide further into the plot. Hope you enjoy this update, guys. ^^ I'm working on a new laptop that doesn't yet have Word, so this chapter was written entirely on DeviantArt's composer. XD

My inbox has been fairly quiet as of late, but all the same, thank you to those who are taking the time read this and those who have the consideration to leave feedback. It always makes me warm and fuzzy inside to see that people enjoy this. :3

IZ and characters (c) Jhonen Vasquez and Viacom


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